#it’s like the third in 4 months my body does not like

[setyourphaserstoslutty]

What’s the emoji for going through yet another detox from my meds cause of the shortage

[i-am-lifeform24]

Curated Companions: Part 3

--------------🔞Masterlist🔞Part 1🔞Part 2🔞Part 4🔞---------------

---------------[ ITZY Yuna - @capslocked ]---------------

There's rules of engagement here supposedly, beyond what's already broke. They're shockingly easy to ignore. She's supposed to count the money in the envelope, but she never does. She simply tucks it into her purse, folds her legs to sit in your lap, and kisses you. Slowly.

This whole coquettish drag and pull of a lip sorta deal.

"Listen," says Yuna, finally letting go. Her thumb traces idly over your jeans. "I was thinking. We could try, like... public stuff, for once, maybe."

"Like exhibitionism?" you ask. "Or some BDSM nonsense? Cause you're already pretty fucking kinky- Hey, ow."

She digs her nails into the back of your neck, pouting at you. "You're taking me out tonight."

"To the hotel bar for a nightcap, sure, and then we're back up here, fucking 'til your legs give out," you say. "You're killing me with this tight black dress shit, today, and I'm going fucking nuts with what that garter-belt thing does to your legs-"

"Nuh-uh," she corrects herself, a little bratty. "Tonight we're playing, like, regular couple people. As opposed to rich weirdos, who literally spend all their time together locked up in hotels."

"Hm. Hate it."

She wrinkles her nose, tracing a bright-blue-acrylic down the front of your shirt. She wears this expression like she's certain of the outcome, like you can't say no. "It'll be fun," she tells you. "You can knock me up in the bathroom, or whatever."

"Fine," you relent, brain stalled. You're in a bad enough state with the way her ass fits into the lingerie you'd bought her last month. "We'll do something normal."

"That's a promise," she sing-songs, smiling wide before flicking open the button at the top of your pants.

Yuna's the best kind of trouble - no less of a devil - and she's right. You're not a rich weirdo, but listen: everything is an experiment. Nothing is ever supposed to be permanent; nothing can be. All the arrangements, safeguards. Yuna calls you a pervert but the projection has been clear from the get-go. You get your hands in her hair, on her hips, around her neck, and her body gets you high as a fucking kite. When she's laid on her back, ankles crossed at your waist, you see the cracks in the game she's playing.

"Fucking christ, fuck, I'm-" she rasps, eyes hazy. 

The cute act comes undone mid-climax.

Your cock is stretching her so wide those big, gorgeous eyes of hers roll back in her head. You've got her pretty tits spilling out of the bra you never had the decency to rip, and a good part of your attention is devoted to how tight her little cunt flutters around you - another is dedicated to rubbing her swollen clit until she screams. You snap your hips into her roughly, hitting all the right spots as she writhes - and Yuna fucking loses it when she gets the chance, gets a hand on your neck as her head falls back and you're taking the reins: "yeah, there, come on, fucking give it to me, holy sh-hiiiit."

There's no pretense in fucking her like this; you kiss the hot line of her mouth and that's when it really unravels. You fuck the words right outta her until the only thing she can remember is "sir, sir, sir, fuck-"

"Aw," you murmur, slowing up to savor the way her mouth falls open. "Good girl. Does my little slut want to cum again already?"

Yuna lets out another quiet gasp. Her brows furrow slightly. Her cunt is fucking gushing, but- 

"No," she says, petulant. "Not yet."

"Are you sure?" You ask, not stopping your hips. "You've been pretty fucking cockdrunk, sweetheart."

Her mouth trembles a little, and then her back is arching so far her chest lifts right into your touch, and:

"Want you to breed me first," she whines. "Your cum. Please, fucking- please."

That, unsurprisingly, is also not in the rulebook: you're supposed to blow into a rubber, but on the third, fourth weekend you meet her, Yuna begs you, eyes big and glossy, and peels the condom off before you can think to argue. How are you meant to resist Yuna's hot little pussy hugging your bare cock like her life depends on it? How are you supposed to say no, with the way she's screaming as you pound her into the sheets - the way she chokes and stumbles all over her pretty pleas to fill her up - the way her arms curl tighter around you when you moan into her throat?

"Yeah, of course," you whisper, into her skin. "I'm gonna stuff your pretty cunt so fucking full."

It's some combination of filthy and nostalgic. When it starts, and stops, and begins again: you don't notice, because every second feels like its own cycle. You don't always cum inside her either - not when you take her to the shower and she instinctively lands on her knees, already enroute to the sloppiest, most mind-numbing blowjob. Not when her mouth rolls down over the head of your cock, guiding your hands onto the swell of her tits - not when her silky tongue and full, round lips slide down to the base.

She looks up at you and takes every fucking inch. 

You don't mean to fuck her face, seriously - it's just her eyes, her pretty, doe-eyed, gentle stare: the second you get both hands in her wet hair, it's hard to break that spell, is the thing. A goner. Lost to it. Her mouth, her lips, her- "Yeah, yeah, oh my god-" you groan.

She doesn't even flinch when you cum on her face, so serious, so debased and sexy in this fucked-out, used-up way, and then she smiles - this sly little quirk - when a rope of cum lands across her cheek. Her hair. Onto the glass behind her. The thing is: you're sorta doomed from here. You're already know you're going to fuck her every way possible; she doesn't even need instructions when you pull her up by the shoulder, flip her around, and fuck her against the shower door. 

"Yuna, sweetie, tighter," and she clenches around you immediately.

The wet skin-on-skin, the way she bites into her arm to silence the noise she's making: god, it's music, you can't let go, and it's better like that, her fucked-dumb little voice just - "You can be louder," you mutter, pressing your chest to her back so that you can bend down, lick her jaw and nip at her neck, listening for her quickening breath.

She moans prettily, makes it clear every time she sucks her lip into her mouth and lets it slip through her teeth as she exhales, that you should be making her moan more often. Your cock hits somewhere deep, some angle that makes her freeze up - oh, god, fuck, right there - and her grip on the handle goes slack.

She drops it altogether, actually: just lets you hold her hair and smear her face into the door.

"Good girl," you praise, feeling her pussy throb around you. You spank, you grab, you pull. You fuck and fuck and fuck-

Christ, Yuna. She’s licking the glass, licking it clean of your cum.

(And you make good on your word. You and your fuck-toy go unnoticed in a public bar, dressed to the nines. She'd slid her long hair behind her ear when she drank, had made pretty faces as you sipped champagne. When you walked out with a hand at the small of her back, she smiled at everyone you passed, her red-lipsticked mouth dazzling in the cold air.)

"I got you a gift," she says later in the cab, which is generally not how these things are supposed to go - her tone is also usually different, too, but the fact is that you'll give her anything.

"Oh? What's that?"

"I'm wearing it, actually." Yuna turns, pulling up the hem of her dress enough to bare her gorgeous ass. There's a silver plug keeping her open, shining and slick. "Well? Shouldn't you put me through a round of testing?"

"Baby," you say, a little strained. Her eyes light up. "That's fucking cheating."

And maybe, technically, not actually following the rules: Yuna sits back, one knee over the other. "Fuck, it feels amazing," she admits in a dreamy, syrupy voice. “But I’m still missing your cum inside of me, honestly. So, y'know."

--------[ fromis_9 Nagyung - @maemisnippets ]-------

You park in a dimly lit street. The lights of the city peering behind the building beside you. Only a few people coming off work walk up and down the street you’re in, looking for a quick bite or drink the rest of the night away. 

Tap tap tap. A silhouette, with long hair and a petite body, appears on your window. You couldn’t see her face too well through the tinted glass, but you can see her signaling to roll your window down. And so you do.

“What are you doing here?” Her eyes come into view.

“Nothing,” you reply. “Just looking around.”

“Looking around?” She talks back. “That’s what they all say. You’re not one of those crazy fans, are you?”

You stare blankly at her, confused on what she’s talking about. “Listen. I’m just here to chill—”

“Do you know who I am?” She cuts you off.

“N-no?”

“I can help you ‘chill’. Just name your price.”

“Um, I have a couple hundred on me right now.”

“Good. Let me in.” You let her in through the other front door.

She wastes not a single second. Her hands travel to your pants, unzipping it. You help her by pulling it down as she takes out your erection from your underwear. She parts her hair to the side before placing your tip against her lips.

You feel the wetness of her lips as she takes in your length, coating it with her spit. Her hand tightly grips the base of your length as she starts sucking your cock at a moderate, steady rhythm. You stifle your moans while trying not to give much of a reaction with your body.

She gives you a sly smile. “Would you mind me making a mess in your car?”

“How much of a mess?”

“Only a tiny bit.” She giggles.

“Does it come with extra?”

“No. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, go for it.”

She pauses for a second, staring at your damp erection. She grips your length again, gathers all saliva in her mouth, and gives you that HAWK TUAH.

Her spit lands everywhere. A few drips down to your seat, but not much to be worried about. She sticks her tongue out, contacting your tip and gets back to business. She bobs her head up and down as her lips glide on your length more smoothly. She goes deeper too, taking as much of it in until you reach the back of her throat. 

You feel your climax coming. Your member throbbing signals her of your impending burst, yet she still persists. She slowly increases her pace and starts stroking you in sync with her blowjob. You grip the seat next to you.

“Oh, fuck,” the only words you mutter. You burst a full load into her mouth. She keeps swallowing threads of your seed, but you keep it coming. You use your other hand to rub her head as she still tries to swallow while struggling to keep everything from dripping out of her mouth.

After what felt like forever, she sits up next to you trying to catch her breath. You reach for your wallet and grab three of the biggest bills you find. You hand her the money, “Is this enough?”

“Pleasure doing business,” she answers, grabbing the money. She gives you a small peck on the cheek before stepping out of your car.

“Scored another one today?” Jiwon greets her.

“Fucking company isn’t paying us and I need the money.” Nagyung replies.

“Think he’ll go for sloppy seconds?” Jiwon smirks.

“Go for it.” Nagyung slaps her ass. “You throat slut.”

----------[ TWICE Mina - @costinblazetwice ]-----------

As you watch this dark-haired woman envelop your cock with her mouth, leaving a red ring from her lipstick at the base, you find yourself drifting back to how all this began.

The owner of this huge hotel chain you were staying at had expanded into the escort business and this was a secret that only got passed around to regulars. When you had gotten your hand on the list of all their new available escorts, there was one Japanese girl that caught your attention by the name of Mina. That day you had called her in to keep you company for the night. 

She had arrived wearing a black shirt neatly tucked into her black shorts. She was a shy and sweet girl so it served as a surprise when the clothes came off and she immediately took control, pushing you onto a chair and getting to work with her mouth. 

Your thoughts are abruptly pulled back to the present as an overwhelming pleasure surges through you. Mina's expert tongue and lips bring you to the edge, her eyes locking with yours, filled with a mix of seduction and raw desire. Her hands grip your thighs, nails digging in just enough to add a hint of pain to the pleasure. 

She pulls away just as your hips begin to buck signaling your climax. All you can do in response is groan as strands of spit being the only thing connecting Mina’s mouth to your cock. She takes a hand and uses the spit to lube up your cock before picking herself up and waking over to the bed which she then sits on, turning around so she’s on all fours, giving you a full view of her puckered asshole and the glistening shine over her slit. 

“Don’t make me wait,” Mina says with a seductive drawl, looking over at you from her shoulder. 

She doesn’t need to tell you twice. 

You move behind her, your hands gripping her hips as you guide your cock to her entrance, plunging in with one fell swoop as Mina moans out in ecstasy. The remainder of her spit on your cock and her juices combine to allow you to penetrate her fully and comfortably. 

You leave your length buried deep inside Mina, your hips pressed firmly against her ass. With a deliberate touch, you slide a wet finger into her asshole. She lets out a muffled moan, her body quivering beneath you. Your finger moves in and out with a brisk pace, both of her tight holes clenching around you. The air fills with the rich, musky scent of her stuffed holes, one with your finger and the other with your cock. An intoxicating aroma that is both dirty and erotic.  

“Fuck me already, please,” Mina drawls out, lightly shaking her ass in anticipation. You pull your finger out, using your tongue to wet your thumb which you then place directly at the entrance of her asshole. 

“Yes, m’am.” You reply. 

You pull back, your cock leaving her tight cunt with difficulty as it clenches down, refusing to let go. Once it sits at the entrance, you immediately thrust back in, causing Mina to let out a shriek as her knees give, causing her to collapse on the bed stomach first. 

“So good,” she groans out, face resting on the pillow. You position yourself over her, each of your hands planted firmly on the bed beside her to keep your balance. She's lying flat on her stomach, her body pressed onto the mattress, her legs slightly parted. This position allows you to thrust deeply as you hover above her, your weight supported by your arms, letting you control the rhythm and depth of each thrust.

You quicken your pace, each thrust driving deeper into her. Mina's moans grow louder, her body trembling beneath you. The room fills with the sound of skin meeting skin, her arousal soaking your cock. She grips the sheets, knuckles white, her face flushed.

"You feel so good," you whisper into her ear, her breath hitching in response. 

The air thickens with the raw, primal scent of sex and sweat. Every breath you take is mixed with the intoxicating aroma of her arousal, mingling with your own musk. The smell of her wetness clings to your cock and permeates the room, driving you wild. Mina's hair is damp with sweat, her skin glistening under the dim light. Her ass is stained a light red from all the thrusting, signaling the intensity of the moment. The overpowering, musky scents envelop you both, heightens the ecstasy coursing through your veins. 

You feel the pleasure building up within you and it’s becoming more difficult to hold in. “Fuck, Mina…” is all you can muster out for Mina to understand. You pull yourself out completely and watch as Mina rolls herself over, now laying on the bed with her flushed face facing you. You begin violently jerking your cock, gaze wandering from her slim waist to her petite breasts with her hardened pink nipples. 

You decide for neither but instead for her mouth where her awaiting tongue hangs out. You could only groan out Mina’s name as you release where her tongue sits, climaxing into her mouth. She keeps eye contact with you as she swallows the liquid in its entirety, offering you a sly smirk. 

You lean in, panting, and murmur, "You're my personal escort now, Mina. I want you available anytime I need you." She smiles back, a playful glint in her eyes. "I think you might need an extension," she teases, ready to repeat the events of the night, not just now but for many nights to come. And only for you. 

----------------[ ITZY Yeji - @syeollock ]------------------

It falls, droops past the horizon - and now it’s a blackout. It happens too fast for some people with how cooped up they’ve been: surrendering their time to serve others, earning their keep. It builds up. It stresses them, pushes them over the edge of the barricade, set by whomever, to prevent what's currently happening: them careening on the rocks, skin and flesh tearing at the slightest impact as they get closer and closer to terminal velocity - through impossibility and then some. 

And here you are, braving through the settling dusk, arriving only when the moon’s set itself atop your head - smart to procure your services at the dead of night. 

Just like always, you perform one last check of yourself - there’s a certain standard that you uphold to yourself; after all, you are being paid and this is the least you could do for these troubled individuals. 

It rings, the same annoying, unending, and inevitable ringing that started this escapade. No answer. You check your watch - you’re not late - It ticks and ticks. And for some reason, it mimics the scrambling behind the door of your destination. Enter… well, exit Hwang Yeji, ITZY’s - yes, that ITZY’s - group leader and also your most prominent client so far. 

The sight of her prompts you to turn away. “It was me,” she says with the slightest attempt of hiding her chagrin, “I was the one that called for you and… your services.” 

Chalk it up to collective karma but somehow the Hwang Yeji is in front of you in all of her glory. Keep calm. She’s not exactly who you had in mind as your first booking for the night but certainly not someone you’d decline - not like you have a choice to begin with. 

“Ma’am? Miss? What would you like me to call you?” you say as she lets you through the gate. No response. You’d think she didn’t hear you but you were at arms length with her. And so it was, your words have gone on deaf ears, Yeji’s ears as a consolation, but not what you’d call welcoming, so you decide to take matters into your own hands - aka doing your job. “Yej-” 

Her dainty fingers meet your lips - salty and shaking. Yeji pulls you to the walls, narrowly avoiding the lighthouse-of-a-light from the windows. “Look,” she whispers in the most breathy way possible like she’s got a finger sticking through her rib, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not exactly allowed to be seen with a man… especially in hours like these.” 

“Yeji,” you take her by her wrists, “colour me rude, but my time isn’t exactly cheap. You should know that.” 

“Of course!” Yeji gets a bit too defensive, accidentally flaring her voice out, “fu-” She mumbles, spits even, as your hand interrupts her expletive, something you didn’t expect would come out so naturally from an idol’s mouth - both the word and bodily fluid. 

“Really? Is this what the Hwang Yeji is capable of?” 

Yeji pouts, craning her neck down, putting her eyes on full display as they take shelter under her furrowed brows. 

“Got something to say?” You’ve laid your hands on her already, albeit not sensually so why not go further - trace a finger on her chin, your nail skating along her nerves, dropping further until you start to thumb her collarbone.  Her jaw slacks and she tries to let a word out, however, you’ve sucker punched her, taken the wind out of her sails - your finger a hurricane that stirs something inside her.

Her string of words - not even - are barely able to make it through, “Y-you… I want you.” 

Yeji is as upfront and direct as one can be, and it still somehow takes you aback. “M-may I ask abou- what about me -” you pause, recompose, “- in particular has got you wanting me?” You’re stumbling on her stairway. 

She goes a step too far - a step too close - Yeji leans, places her body weight on your shoulders, pushing you through her door. She props herself up on your shoulders and whispers, “Are we really going to waste time on this?” Caught up in the moment, you couldn’t help but stare - how this creature of myth nuzzles its way to the crook of your neck, how it looks up at you with this unmarred admiration, the same unquestioned look lemmings have before they go plunging down the cliffs..

Yeji debunks it all - an urban legend - with just her lips, the coming to blows of your lips. She’s kissing you, the soft little tug on your clothes, that little look of a successful leap of faith. It’s needy, messy as her tongue slips through your slack jaw. It’s this heavy intoxication that has you feeling like you’re at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, like you’ve just woken up from a heady herbal mix of a concoction. 

It takes a few minutes - a few minutes of lips locked together, tongues wrapping around each other - before you realise the gravity of the situation. Your lips part, instead you take her by wrists, feeling her ramping pulse, and turn her around, back to your torso. “Is this what you had in mind when you called?” you say, thumbing her jaw.

“Ok, don’t judge,” Yeji starts, pausing for a slight moment of repose, “but I… I was looking for something rough, you know? Some stress relief, maybe? Nothing beats getting thrown on the bed with no regards, have my hair pulled, oh God…” 

“Hell, you could have had me gagging on that cock of yours,” she bundles herself tight into your arms, rubs her dainty ass on your cock, “maybe even filled to the brim with your hot cu- Sorry…”

Two, maybe three, hours ago, this person in your arms was yet to be Yeji, and now you’ve eased yourself into her ribs - being the lingering annoyance that could either get her smiling from cheek to cheek or satisfy her more masochistic side.  

You wrap around her with a tad bit of desperation, perhaps realising that your time is running out. “Hey,” you dip your lips into her nape, “I’m not objecting.” Yeji’s head falls back, “God, you’re cute…” She flushes pink - plum - her ivory-like teeth spilling at the corners. 

She draws the vowels out, “So you’d ruin someone cute? Someone like m-” 

“Yes. Someone like you.” Your eyes meet, and you give her one last kiss. “Fuck - sorry - this is nice but I have other clients to attend to. I gave you an extra hour… just cause, but I really would have loved to meet your expectations. Why don’t you book me again tomorrow?”

“No,” a giggle escapes her lips, “no way you thought I was that much of a cheapskate?” 

“Sorry?” You tilt your head quizzically, brows furrowing.

“I booked you for the whole twenty four hours dummy.” 

----------[ Aespa Ningning - @thelibrarian69 ]----------

It was simple, Ningning just had to be your date to your high school reunion. Live up the falsehood you put up, just like anyone there. Any extracurricular activities of the night was up to her. You weren’t rich after all and couldn’t pay for the guaranteed activities to end the night.

“I’m guessing this is good night then?” You and Ningning stand in front of her luxury hotel room door.

Out of your pocket, you pull out a white-thick envelope. You hand it to her as she takes it. A quick peer through it and she closes it.

“Why don’t you come in for a drink? Need to make sure I don’t owe you any change.” A drink with Ningning was nice but you know you gave her the right amount.

“I’m pretty sure I gave you the right amount but if there’s extra, think of it as a tip.” Ningning chuckles at your statement and grabs your hand.

“Come on.” You don’t fight her as you follow her through the door.

The loud smack of your envelope lands on the table, as Ningning pours the two of you a drink. You eye her up and down, examining every detail of her body, from her hour-glassed shaped figure, to her pristine legs.

You're handed the drink as Ningning takes the other. Tapping her glass against yours, Ningning takes a sip. You do the same, as the drink coats your flavor pallet. As you savor the taste, Ningning sets her drink aside. Removing the cup from your hand, Ningning strips you of your jacket.

Your tie is loosened along with the buttons on your shirt. You know what’s in store for tonight, as Ningning soothingly touches your chest.. The touch brings out the excitement within you.

Making the first move, Ningning’s lips connect with yours. The two of you share a passionate kiss.

The kiss breaks, as both you and her make eye contact. The moment is sweet and tender before Ningning drops down to her knees. Undone are your pants and out is your cock, as she grabs it.

Back and forth her hand moved, as she jerked you off. Locking eyes with you, Ningning placed wet kisses on the side of your cock. Each kiss makes a trail leading to the head of your cock. Ending the trail, was a last kiss on the head of your cock.

The kiss turns into a wet lick, that’s soon followed by you entering her mouth. You shudder to the feeling of Ningning’s wet mouth. Each entry of your cock into her mouth was heavenly. Her tongue worked effortlessly on your cock, as her head moved back and forth.

As she works on your cock, you reach down and pull the straps off her shoulders. The action makes her unsheathe you from her mouth. A stare at you and a bite of her lips, she takes in the upper part of your cock.

Ningning locks eyes with you again, as her blowjob gets more aggressive. Her tongue swirls around and flicks at the slit of your cock. Her grip on your cock is harder than before, as it works the lower half of your cock.

All of that soon acclimates to a hands-free blowjob. Fucking her face on your cock, she took you in. In and out your cock went, feeling every inch of her mouth as you hit her throat.

You tense up as your cock is buried within her throat. You use all the willpower you can to not cum. A teasing smile and hum comes from her, as she spits you out and plays with your cock on her lips. A few taps of it on her lips and she gets up on her feet.

A sultry-loving stare is given to you from Ningning. She makes her way to the bedroom, as her figure lures your eyes to her. A step in front of the bed and she undoes her heels. They drop to the carpet floor with a thud. A pull of the zipper and off is her dress. Revealed to you is her alluring back and the skimpy black panties she wore.

A look back at you and you step out of your shoes and pants. You rid yourself of any remaining clothing and make your way to her. You hug her from behind and cup her bare breasts, feeling how taut her nipples are. You place kisses on her neck, before finally choosing a spot you like and sucking on it.

Ningning hisses out to your bite and suction. A gasp follows her hiss, as you grab on to her clothed pussy. You feel how warm it is, as you start rubbing it. Her hands cling onto your wrists as she melts in your arms.

“How… How do you want me?” You unlatch from her neck, thinking of how you wanted to fuck her.

You push her onto the bed, before turning her around. Dropping to your knees, you pull her forward. Sliding her panties to the side, you latch on to her pussy, eating her out. It doesn’t take long for her to push your head into her. Breathless moans spew out of her until the inevitable happens.

Her juices wash over your tongue and into your mouth. You drink up whatever heavenly nectar you can, as Ningning trembled within your grasp. You let her calm down and collect herself.

You keep yourself accompanied with your hand until she’s ready again. Peeling her underwear off, Ningning spreads her legs for you. With two fingers, she spreads her pink pussy apart for you to enter in.

You line yourself up against her. A firm grab of a leg and hulling it over your shoulder, you slip into her. She gasps out and clings on to the bedsheets above her. You feel how tight her insides wrap around you.

You bathe in the pleasurable feeling as you fill her to the brim. A breath in and you move your hips. Slow and easy you were at first, as Ningning’s moans slowly spew out of her. All of that changes though, when you speed up your pace. A yelping scream and louder moans soon follow.

You use her hole in the way you like, hard and fast but savoring with each thrust. Your hips come to a halt, as you feel the slightest tingle of sensational relief. You pull out and collect yourself, as you rub your cock on Ningning’s sensitive clit.

As you gather yourself, Ningning removes her legs from your shoulder. Moving back, she turns over to her stomach, showing you her back side. A move of a leg and you know how she wants you to take her from behind.

Straddling the prone leg, you slip into her. Ningning braces herself on an elbow and turns back to face you. No warm up is needed, as you pick up right where you left off. Her head drops, as she feels how big you are.

You support her lower back with a hand and grab her lush thigh with the other. You ram away at her, as her head tilted in place. Her juices coat your shaft, as her ass ripples and her tits bounce to each impact you deliver.

As the sound of you clapping away at Ningning’s ass fills the room, you see the whites of her eyes. She blinks vividly, as her incoherent moans die out. Her insides tighten around your shaft and within moments your cock is washed over with her slick.

Ningning’s head drops down, as her hair blocks your view of her beautiful face. You brush it aside, as you turn Ningning over to her back. Still connected, you pull a leg over your shoulder and fuck Ningning again.

The sudden thrust surprises her, as she grabs on to your forearm. Her nails dig into you, as she cries out in pleasure. You halt your movements and quickly remove Ningning’s hands off you.

Pulling her other leg over your shoulder, you leverage your position and get the higher ground. The change in position makes Ningning's eyes widen.

With a snap of your hips, Ningning cries out. She shuts her eyes as you start pounding away relentlessly. Each thrust you deliver, fills the room with the sound of your balls smacking against her ass and her incoherent moans. You aggressively chase after your orgasm until you finally reach it.

A hard slam into her and you cum for the first time tonight. You explode inside of her, sending every amount of cum you can into her. Each shot is better than the next and brings you the greatest sense of relief you’ve ever felt.

Releasing Ningning’s legs from your shoulders. You bury yourself within the confines of her neck, as she weakly embraces you. The two of you wait patiently for each other’s second wind to kick in, as a means to satisfy each other once more.

---------[ BADVILLAIN Emma - @coldfanbou ]---------

“How are you doing, mister? You seem down.” A woman asks you, bending over to be at eye level with you as you look up. “I can help you with that.” You meet the woman’s eyes and ask her name. “Call me Emma,” she says, smiling and shaking her head, her red hair shining in the evening light.  The two of you continue the conversation, where you learn Emma was an escort. “If you really want to forget about her, you can come with me.” Emma is proactive, sitting on your lap and caressing your face. “Come on, Daddy.” She says softly. You glance up at her, meeting her smirk. Emma was reading you like a book, figuring out what you’re into just by meeting your gaze. You agree, and Emma climbs off your lap, taking you by the hand and hailing a taxi for the two of you.

You exit the taxi with Emma and stare at the building in front of you, nervous.“Come on, Daddy. Don’t you want to go inside?” Emma says in a low, sultry voice. She runs her fingernail along your chest, slowly rising to your neck and finally stopping at your chin. “I thought you wanted to have some fun.” You stare at the door to the love hotel, wondering if you should go through with it. “That wife of yours cheated on you. Why shouldn’t you get to have some fun?” She whispers to you like a devil on your shoulder. “I’ll make sure to make all your worries disappear.” Emma grabs your hand, leading you inside as the last of your doubt fades away.

You pay for the room, enter the elevator, and head to the top floor where your room is. You step out and see it at the end of the hallway. Emma grabs the key card from you before intertwining her fingers with yours as she holds your hands and runs ahead. You follow her, listening to her laugh as she taps the card and pushes the door aside.

Emma wastes no time, getting you to the bed and pushing you onto it. She pulls down your pants and rubs your cock through your boxer, licking her lips as she feels your cock get harder. You stare at Emma, watching her smirk grow larger as she pulls on the waistband and frees your cock. She grabs it gently, her grip slowly getting tighter as she runs her hand up and down your shaft. “You’re so hard, Daddy. Is it because of me?” She asks, pulling the bottom of her top up to reveal her perky tits. Dark brown nipples topped her tanned breasts; Emma felt your cock twitch and laughed. “Thank you for liking them, Daddy,” She says, shaking her upper body so her tits swayed. Emma bent over, her hot breath hitting the head of your head before you felt her tongue run along the underside. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fit you inside,” She says, wrapping her lips around the tip of your cock, her tongue gently lapping it.

“Ah, Emma.” You groan, her warm tongue swirling around the tip.

“Yes, Daddy?” She asks, a smile on her face as she takes control. “What is it, Daddy?” She asks when you don’t respond; while she waits, Emma moves her tongue quickly over the head.

“You’re so good at this.”

Emma smiles and pulls away, “It’s my job.” She says before standing up and unbuttoning her pants. She let them fall to the floor; her lacy black panties were the only barrier now, and they disappeared just as quickly. You took in Emma’s tanned body, noticing her toned stomach. Emma picked up on your staring, “I was a dancer.” She says casually before climbing onto the bed and straddling you. Emma grinds against you slowly; she moans softly and grabs your hands, placing them on her tits. “Mmm, Daddy, I want you.” She groans, rising slowly off you. Emma grabs your cock, rubbing it against her folds before pressing it against her entrance and sinking onto it. She tilts her head back, letting her low moans fill the room as you stretch her cunt. “Ah, Daddy, you’re so big.” She moans as she slows down, taking her time as she finishes taking in your cock.

Your grip on her tits grows rougher as you feel how tight she is. Emma smiles, enjoying the roughness. She begins to bounce on your cock, slowly at first.  Every time Emma bounces on your cock, she becomes a little faster until she’s slamming herself down on you. She leans down, kissing you, her tongue invading your mouth as she continues to ride you.

Your hands move down to her waist for a moment before reaching for her ass. You spank her roughly, earning yourself a cry of pleasure from Emma. “You’re being so rough, Daddy.” She moans as you spank her more.

“You’re such a naughty girl,” you grunt through the pleasure.

“Only for you,” She says, continuing to ride as you grab her ass and begin thrusting. Emma’s moans grow louder, barely contained by the love hotel’s thin walls, as you both near your climax. You thrust quickly, driving your cock deep into Emma before burying yourself inside and cumming in her. Emma rocks her hips as you cum, letting her walls flex around your cock in different positions, draining you of your cum. She tilts her head back, groaning as she feels your warm semen being pumped into her. As she returns her gaze to you, Emma rubs her stomach, “You filled me with so much cum, Daddy. I might get pregnant.” She plants a kiss on your cheek as you rest. You end up falling asleep. When you wake up, you find a note from Emma. “Thanks for the good time, Daddy. I took my payment. I hope we can do this again. I’ll meet you in the park when you want to. Here’s my number.”

-----------[ Le Sserafim Yunjin - @praeluxius ]----------

"Back again? Chip in the box, you know how it works." The doorman is crisp down to every last detail, from his red suit to his slick-back hair to his expensive silver-plated glasses. You hit the button on your wrist, the metal drops away from your skin and falls into the box. The doors of the Stray Sheep retract and it's all so red. The couches, the bar, the rugs, the furniture, the chandelier even, as if the whole bar was dipped in blood and set out to dry.

"The lamb has come to play. What'll it be?"

"The same as always, Ithill," you tell him, with your typical droning voice.

"The wife still giving you that same old problem?" He laughs as if he knows the answer before the question is ever said. "There's so much desire in you tonight. Well, I have a solution for you. Why don't you take a drink from this full-bodied red tonight? Guaranteed to appease your thirst. A special vintage." He pushes a goblet toward you. It's made of gold and holds a swirling concoction that pulses with energy like blood in a heart.

"And what will this one cost me?"

"Everything. And nothing." He stands looking down his high-bridged nose at you, his jet-black shades obscuring his iris. He's a towering hulk of a man, and he wears his ruby-red suit impeccably. He laughs something terrible and deep, and you laugh with him. "As it always does."

"As it always will," you swallow air in a big gulp before reaching out for the ornate goblet.

"Bottoms up, and drink deep."

The goblet reaches your lips, cold metal on soft, sensitive skin. The liquid climbs from the cup, and so red it is, consuming and overwhelming. All you see is red. Blood red. Wine red. Red as fucking hell. Redder. Your vision blots black now until there's nothing. Your lungs don't take air, yet you don't feel the need for breath. You don't even notice your own heart. Nothing.

The first thing you see is her hair. In an ocean of black, something breaks the waves. Red. Her fingers slip through her locks, teasing a curling spiral into being. Red nails. So red. You find yourself transfixed.

The colour of love. Or hate.

A finger at her pouty, perfect lips tells you all you need to know. No words. In an instant, she's closer. Soft, full lips on yours. She breathes heat, and the embers spark inside your gut.

Her fingers are all over you now, her painted fingernails scratching, digging at your skin. Where your clothes should be, but they aren't, they're gone. A voice whispers into you. Whispers from all around you. They cry out for you—at you. Whore. Cheat.

You're erect. No, erect isn't right. The word itself isn't right, somehow. Not just the tingling excitement of a hot woman around you, but also a certain sort of discomfort. Unyielding and stiff. Wood, solid as a two-by-four. An arm's length protruding, inhuman erection. You're a little sick, sickened. Yet, you have no problem imagining exactly what you plan on doing with it.

She bends a leg around you, long and lithe. Her arms surround you. Embrace you. You're sitting on something soft as her lips work at your neck and you sink back. It's not a chair. You're falling and falling into a silken embrace. Skin burning when her teeth leave marks on you.

She slides across you like a snake on the sand. Slowly, softly, predatory in nature. Those lips of hers meet yours. And then a tongue, and then the embers within turn to flames. Hot, the inferno builds and burns within you. Tongues intertwined and slippery and warm. The smell and the taste are incredible. Strawberries, coffee, chocolate. Lavender, rosemary, jasmine, vanilla, sandalwood, cedar, patchouli, lily. Why are there so many?

Your eyes flicker shut. Your body relaxes. Let her consume you. Let her devour you. There's nothing left to feel anymore but her. She consumes you, all of you, so deep into her that there's no hope of separating where she starts and you end. All you can see is her, all you can taste is her, feel her, smell her, know her. Her who has no name.

"Yunjin." A question unspoken, but answered nonetheless, from your thoughts to her mouth. "Will you give me your world?"

You want to. You have no world. You never did. Nothing to lose. A family you've shamed already. You have her. Give her everything. Give her all, you fucking whore. Cheater. Hypocrite. Worthless man.

You're as deep in her as far as your hardness can go, and she's riding hard. Not wild, but constant. Hard, steady work. Eyes locked, hearts synchronizing, even with hers beating in some other realm. Thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

Flesh hits on flesh, sweat-drenched as you are. You kiss at her breasts, bite her neck, and whisper her name over and over, thrusting deep within. The sweet sting of her long red nails against your arms.

Hands on her ass, you hold a grip so tight it could squeeze the red of her skin right off and let the black pour out. You fuck into her so far, so hard and fast, her tits bounce. Her long hair hangs limp and swaying over her shoulders, yet that smile of hers never vanishes. Never breaking, never fading, always smiling, grinning. And you cum deep. Cum so hard as the orgasm rips out of you, squeezing her deeper and deeper, bringing her right to you. Her walls tense; you let them squeeze it all out, everything you have left.

When it should have stopped, it didn't. The orgasm tore away inside you and wouldn't fade. She laughs and moans, writhes and screams, the sensation becoming so powerful and so overwhelming that the world itself shatters around you.

Spiralling lights of red and darkness break into view like fireworks, like stars burning a brilliant death, breaking in their light, dancing across the air like mist or steam. Every sensation in you blazes, your body, heart, and soul. Still, you burst with rapturous exultation beyond mortal measure, and only does it stop when she has drained from you everything she needs, everything she desires. And only then can you slip back into a slumber.

She climbs from you as you drift away, her eyes burn a scintillating red as she towers over you. Her teeth grow sharp. Wings of leather burst forth from her skin and her flesh crawls with grey and grey and darker grey, morphing before your very eyes. Your body is a rag. You cannot move. Yet your mind does not fade as sleep takes you. You still see her in all of her glory, beautiful and horrific, grey and crimson red and black and twisted.

Yunjin. The name that escaped from your lips. A demon—set upon you by Ithill.

Ithill.

Lilith.

-----------[ IVE Rei - @banananutsmuthie ]-------------

You’re not sure how much money you’ve already spent. Hell, you’re not even sure how many times you’ve been here, but who’s counting? The only number that matters now is ten minutes. 

Ten minutes not because that’s all you need; you’d stay all night until you’re fucked to death by these idols if you could afford it. And as soon as she walks through the door, those ten minutes start to melt away from the timer on the wall, counting down to inevitable. How ten minutes feel like a lifetime and yet like a fleeting moment is beyond comprehension.

And yet, it’s just enough time to fulfill those nasty little fantasies you’ve had of this sexy fuckable idol.

Rei is wearing this little leather number—shorts hugging those breedable handles she calls hips and a top that’s selling those bountiful breasts harder than a used car salesman. She goes through the whole spiel of telling you her name and what group she’s in. 

“Yes, I know who you are,” you respond.

Rei looks behind her to where your anxious gaze meets the timer. A small gasp leaves that tiny frame of hers from how little time you’ve rented her out. 

That’s fine. She’s a pro and knows exactly how to cater to her clients. First, she tugs off her shorts that struggle briefly at the widest part of her hips, then climbs onto the bed on your already-naked lap (hey, time is money). That tight, juicy pussy rubs against your cock as she wraps her arms around your neck. Rei gives you the cutest smile you’ve ever seen from these pretty little fuckdolls.

“So what’ll it be?”

You don’t even need to answer. One glance down her tight top and Rei knows exactly what you need. She grabs you by the shaft, lining her opening with your tip before sinking down the entire length of your cock. 

“How’s this feel?” she whispers, her sultry, warm breath beating against your ear.

You give her a soft slap on that supple ass, but it’s her hips that call out for your hands to grab hold. It’s uncanny how ergonomic they are as your hands start to piston her body up and down your hardening cock. She’s already wet from a couple thrusts, coating your cock the more you delve into Rei’s tight pussy.

But there just isn’t enough time for a full fuck marathon, is there? You know it. She knows it. So when she’s satisfied with just how rock hard your cock is throbbing inside her, she gets off your lap. Rei’s getting on her knees, and she’s about to make the space between your parted thighs her home for the next seven minutes.

“I’ll take care of you, just let me do all the work,” she assures.

Rei conjures enough saliva and manages to aim it between her breasts, using her index finger in her cleavage like she’s stirring cream into her coffee. The sight alone is almost worth the price of admission. When she’s satisfied, she leans closer, taking your cock underneath her top and through her breasts, right where her saliva and the pussy juice she already lathered on your cock form to make a not-so-holy makeshift lube.

And. Holy. Fuck.

Look—it’s not every day you come across a well-endowed idol like Rei. Sure, there’s Karina and Eunbi, but they’re a little out of your price range. But Rei? Literally the best bang for your buck. This girl’s tit job is suffocating.

At first, she starts slow, letting you enjoy it before the real fun begins. She’ll push her tits down on your crotch until the tip of your cock breaches the surface of her cleavage before bobbing back up as the soft inside between her chest envelopes your cock. She pushes her breasts together, jiggles them to make sure you get the whole experience. Even slaps her tits a little. And then she repeats. Again and again.

But it’s not enough. You want more. You crave more. Rei smiles because she knows. She zips off that top, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. Rei’s perfect perky tits are a godsend. She’s pushing them together even tighter now against your hard cock, her soft fair skin pulsating and shimmering in her own bodily fluids. Rei checks back at the timer behind her: less than three minutes left. You try to reach out and pinch her nipples but she’s pushing to overdrive and bobbing way too fast now.

“Shit, Rei!”

You can’t help but exclaim just how good she is. It’s her devilish smile. It’s those innocent eyes goading you to drench her tits. It’s the little beads of sweat forming at the top of her chest starting to mix with her spit and pussy juice. It’s Rei pushing her breasts together tighter, pumping against your cock faster, clapping her breasts together louder. 

And just like that, she’s got you. She’s fucking got you.

Now, not since Vesuvius wiped out Pompeii has there been absolute destruction via explosive eruption. But this? History books will be rewritten on what happens here. They’ll talk about the precursors: the telltale tremors against the bed as you clench the sheets tighter, feet locking around Rei and pulling her closer, every muscle tightening up. Historians will talk about how long you tried to hold out, which makes this eruption even more violent than usual.

You, however, are not a historian. You’re writing this story in real time, balls wound up so tight, cock almost numb to Rei’s constant rubbing until you finally explode. The first shot is a rocket to the moon, white hot magma raining down on her breasts in chaotic disaster. And it just keeps coming. Rei is giggling with just how well she’s milking you with her milkers, continuing to take her between her tits until she’s fucked you dry.

By the end of it all, Rei’s left in a mess between your legs. There’s cum everywhere. It’s beautiful. A shot reaches the stratosphere, and in the aftermath, a glob of white at her hairline. Her lips catch another stray string of cum that dribbles down her chin, but the destruction really rests on those breasts. So much so, that it’s almost hard to believe with how much real estate her breasts take up, you’ve managed to cover a majority of her chest. Rei’s breasts are such a national treasure, that what you’ve done to this poor girl’s chest will qualify those drenched tits as a candidate for a UNESCO World Heritage site.

You can’t help but repeat yourself of a job well done. Shit, Rei!

“What can I say?” she says with a satisfied smirk as she uses your knees as leverage to help herself up off the floor. She grabs her tossed garments, but she lets you watch that tight little ass jiggle bare-naked with each step on her way out. Perhaps that’s another conquest for your next visit. The timer on the clock blinking three zeroes makes sure of it. 

Rei stops at the doorway and lets you take it all in one final time. Three fingers swipe at the sticky mess on her stomach, following the trail up between her breasts before wiping the remnants dangling from her chin.

“So,” she says after gulping down what she’s collected on her fingers, “I hate to ask—”

The delirium of a mind-blowing tit job almost drowns out what she’s asking, but you’ve been here enough times to know the question. It’s clockwork. Doesn’t matter if it’s Rei or one of the other idol escorts—it’s the immutable, universal question. So before she can even finish asking, you give her the answer you always give, the only answer that ensures both of you are satisfied:

“Five stars."

-------[ Lee Chaeyeon - @brokennightmares01 ]-------

Do people ever really get a second chance at life?

A question that humans more often found themselves asking. With all the sins that a human commits on a daily basis, the constant fear of losing their chance at life constantly chases them. This idea very much applies to yourself. 

“Fuck, just like that baby~” The girl beneath you have been on your dick for a while now. Her accumulating saliva—coating your tip all the way to the base. You’ve already lost count on how many times you called Chaeyeon, however she was a sin that you would always commit.  

“M-master, fuck me. Fuck me in the face like you always do.” You’re the one supposed to be in power in this situation, but you ended up following her words. Taking a handful of her hair you forcefully let her face meet the end of your crotch. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, not a single gag reflex activated from the girl. You even felt a slight breath on your skin as she inhaled more of the musky scent. After a few more seconds you released the girl, who’s gasping for air, but her expression was thankful for your actions. 

Still chasing your high, you held on the girl’s hips, pulling her over to you as you cores met. You feel how wet the girl is as your cock slips on her slit. 

“Choking on my dick has made you this wet?” A stupid question when the answer is right in front of you. Not wasting any more of your time you plunge yourself inside her, making her arch her back. 

“Too much, too much, too much, ahh,” she moaned to your relentless pounding, her legs already shaking from the orgasm that she’s having. “Outside p-please do it outside, I’m not safe…”  With complete disregard to her pleas you shoved your cock one last time you shove yourself to the depths of her insides. You’ve cummed more than twice already yet your cock keeps painting her walls white. Once you pull out some of the excess start to drip down her thighs. 

You’re panting from all the movement that you have done, and you took a stick of cigarette to smoke. The sound of the breathing is then interrupted by the ringing of your phone. You pause for a second thinking if it’s the right thing to answer, but suspicion would be higher if you didn’t. 

“Hello, love!” A cheerful voice greets you on the other line. 

“How is my…” a moment of hesitation hits you. The realization that you even have the right to call her the next few words has entered your mind. “ … love of my life.”  You felt your throat dry up, and your eyes glanced at the body of the naked woman laying down a few feet from you. 

“I’m doing good! I really miss you. By the way I called to remind you that the dinner with my parents and sister is pushing through,” you sigh silently the guilt is not helping you as your hands begin to tremble. 

“Of course I didn’t forget.” You told her, and after a few more exchanges she hangs up. 

“You’re trembling now after talking to my sister, pathetic.” Chaeyeon turns to you, a devilish smile on her face. She’s right, moments ago you were relentlessly fucking her like you didn’t have someone waiting for you at home. “Don’t worry about her, she 'll never find out what we have…” The girl sits up, pressing her still sweaty body on your back. Her nipples were still hard as she started to rub on you.   

Do people ever really get a second chance at life?

You know there isn’t one for you. 

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: seven months after his defection, you run into dazai osamu by sheer chance. you know in your heart what you should do—traitors are to be disposed of, regardless of any previous relationship you might've had with them... but can you bring yourself to do what must be done? or will you be more driven by the questions you desperately need answered?

(wordcount: 7.1k; fem!reader, pm!reader, angsty (i promiseeeee i have some happier ones coming up with pm!reader and pmzai), alcoholism, dazai is in a particularly bad mental state)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: this one was suchhhh a doozy. the third installment of my pm!reader & pm!dazai universe, this is why i had to retcon he's my collar because originally pm!reader didn't see him at all during the 4 years but i got the idea for this fic like 2 ?? weeks ago and it was too good to not use - tomorrow i think i'll put up the masterlist for it so you guys can see the chronology and planned installments

Against all odds, you run into Dazai Osamu seven months after his defection.

You should put a bullet in his skull. You watch absently from the mouth of the alley as the ex-Port Mafia executive groans, trying to push himself to his feet only to crash back onto the pavement, blood smeared across his face from a crooked nose and split lip, bile pooled on the ground where he’d landed.

Gross, you think, lip curling up in disgust as his lithe fingers smear through the vomit, blunt nails scraping against the pavement as he attempts to push himself up again but fails. His shoulders are heaving, breath slow and labored as he lets out another wretched sound, crumpling back to the ground. 

You click the safety off of your gun, pulling it out of your pocket as you quietly make your way deeper into the alley, over to where he’s still struggling to get off the ground. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence until he hits the ground hard again after nearly making it to his feet. This time, he falls onto his shoulder and gasps in pain as he rolls onto his back, blinking up blearily through glazed-over eyes that can hardly focus on you or the gun pointed at his head.

You should just get it over with, pull the trigger, and leave the body for cleanup to handle. It’d be a better fate than he deserves, cleaner and quicker than he’d ever give himself, and not even half as painful as it’ll be when the Port Mafia inevitably get their hands back on him. 

You’d be sparing him, really; it would be a mercy.

And it’s what is expected of you. Letting a traitor as high profile as Dazai Osamu go free when you have a clear chance to execute him would be more than enough to have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the torture chambers, body dumped in the river when the Port Mafia is done punishing you. 

But still, for some reason, your finger hesitates as you move to pull the trigger. 

“You…” His voice is so slurred that you can hardly make out coherent words, but you use his words as an excuse to bide even more time, curious to see what he’s going to say. You can smell the whiskey on him from where you’re standing, his skin is paler than it usually is, and you notice, idly, that the bandages on his right eye are gone and you wonder when he chose to shed them. “You’re not real.”

Your eye twitches in irritation. 

You pull the trigger. 

If he was sober, he would have expected the reaction from you and dodged the bullet, but he’s not sober, so his eyes fly open in shock as the bullet grazes his ear and embeds itself in the pavement next to his head. He doesn’t look any more sobered up by the pain, which you suppose is a testament to how drunk he really is, but he does look significantly more confused. 

“You shot me,” he says, pale lips parted as he stares up at you—too pale, you notice absently, brows furrowing a bit as you try to consider what to do.

“Yeah,” you say, voice rough with irritation. “Real enough for you?”

Dazai blinks, you don’t even think your words are registering and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. 

Get it over with, you tell yourself again, this time positioning your gun over his forehead. A clean kill. You won’t move it to the side at the last minute again. You remind yourself that this is what he deserves—he’s a traitor to the Port Mafia, to you. Killing him now would be a mercy compared to what the Port Mafia would do to him, compared to what he’d do to himself. 

He stares up at you, brown eyes wide and glassy. He parts his lips to speak but you can’t give yourself the same excuse; you don’t wait for his words this time. 

You pull the trigger again.

But Dazai is moving. He rolls over onto his side trying to push himself back to his feet and the bullet lodges right into the ground where his head had once been lying. You stare down at it in disbelief, gun falling to your side as your fingers start to feel a bit numb and clunky, breath catching as you realize what you’d almost just done—what you tried to do. 

Dazai makes it to his knees and he tries to reach out for you but you step back out of reach. His brows furrow before he keels over again, dry heaving now—there’s enough bile around him for you to realize he’s probably thrown up everything in his stomach and then some. He leans against the wall, the glassiness of his eyes spilling over his cheeks as he continues to dry heave but your gaze is still trained down on the ground where the bullet is embedded in the ground where his head had just been laying. 

You just tried to-

You think you’re the one who feels sick now. The dinner you’d had out with Chuuya and Kouyou rises to the back of your throat as you take another step away from Dazai. Your vision blurs as your gaze turns to him again, but instead of the tattered and vomit-stained clothes he’s wearing now, he’s back in the dark suit you’re accustomed to, crumpled on the ground still, but not because he’s drunk because he’s been wounded on a mission that he took on so you wouldn’t have to. 

You just tried to kill Dazai.

Dazai, who’s been your closest friend since the two of you were sixteen and at the center of the most violent conflict to rock Yokohama’s foundations. Entirely inseparable, forever entwined since the moment the two of you met; the type of instant click that most people could only ever dream of experiencing in their lives. 

You almost killed Dazai.

Dazai, who promised to put a bullet in Ace’s head if the man ever came near you again after he found out the newly promoted executive had insinuated putting one of his collars on you during a confrontation between the two of you. He knew that even he would face consequences for threatening another executive, that he would face even more if he dared to follow through with his threat, but he didn’t care and he had every intention of following through if it meant keeping you safe.

You would have killed Dazai if not for sheer luck. 

Dazai, who used to kiss you with trembling fingers and quivering lips, because for as much as his reputation as the Demon Prodigy had spread throughout the country, he was still just a teenage boy who’d never had his first kiss until the two of you got drunk on champagne after a successful mission when he made the mistake of admitting to you that he’s never kissed anyone before. The two of you’d spent the entire night giggling between chaste kisses, getting through just about two bottles of champagne before you started throwing up.

He held back your hair and laughed at you as you leaned over the toilet, miserable. But he was gentle with you in a way that Dazai Osamu is never gentle with anyone, fingers carding through your hair, rubbing absent circles on your back to soothe you as you choked over sobs and gags. 

Then there’s you. You, who not only a moment ago, looked down at him with your lip curling up in disgust, unable to hold your grimace at the way he laid in his own vomit. You lifted the barrel of your gun in his direction not once, but twice, and you pulled the trigger not once, but twice.

When you showed vulnerability to him, he showed you a type of tenderness that everyone thought was long lost to the notorious Demon Prodigy. 

When he finally shows vulnerability to you, you only show him cruelty in response.

You try to convince yourself that it’s different, that the circumstances are different now but the words ring hollow in your head, taking no root, because you think the circumstances shouldn't matter. This is Dazai. Dazai. There are no circumstances that justify executing him.

Your head spins and you take another step away, you don’t know where you dropped your gun and you don’t want to know. You don’t want to look at it. You don’t want to touch it. You’ll send someone else after it later. You blink, and for a moment, you can visualize what almost happened: you can see Dazai motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his head and a bullet wound piercing through his forehead. You gag, pressing your hand to your mouth as you force back the bile that nearly comes up. 

“Wait,” Dazai garbles out, pushing off the wall toward you but he propels himself right into the ground again, face first, scraping his cheek on the concrete. “Don’t leave again.”

Again? The word nearly pulls you out of your daze, the bitterness that’s poisoned you for seven months returning with a vengeance as your eyes focus on him. 

Dazai, who left you without a word or a warning. Not even the slightest goodbye. He abandoned you like you meant nothing to him. 

“I need to-” he gags again as he pushes himself to his knees. He tries to reach forward again but his whole body sways, eyes half-rolling back as he tries to steady himself, on the verge of passing out. “I need to tell you this time. I need to-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, slumping back over onto the ground unconscious—in a puddle of his own blood and vomit, naturally. The logical part of you knows you should just leave him there. You’re already playing with fire by not executing him on the spot, but you also know if you leave him here, it’ll be as good as a death sentence. If he doesn’t die on his own from alcohol poisoning, then he’ll certainly be found by the Port Mafia patrols. You think Dazai is a fool for drinking so much so deep in Port Mafia territory, for not being careful enough to make sure he didn’t wander out in the open. 

He should know better. 

He does know better.

A part of you wonders if it was intentional, if he thought that he’d stumble into Port Mafia territory and he’d run into someone eager to lay claim to the fame of being Dazai Osamu’s executioner.

If that’s the case, he nearly got his wish—that thought alone almost sends you spiraling over the edge again, having to shove away more nausea. You force all thoughts of the Port Mafia and betrayal to the back of your mind as you fall to your knees next to him, gathering him up into your arms and pushing yourself back to your feet. He curls into you instinctively, even while unconscious, smaller than you remember, smearing blood and bile all over your suit. Your grip on him tightens, a shaky breath escaping your lips when you realize that this is the first time you’ve touched him since the night he left. 

You shake your head to clear your mind, desperately trying to focus. You can’t stay out in the open with him for long otherwise you’ll risk someone seeing you with him, and that’ll open a can of worms you’re not prepared to deal with.

You’ll drop him off somewhere safe, and then you’ll get back to base.

That’s all.

That is not all.

The safehouse in Sakae that the two of you would run to whenever you wanted to avoid Mori is just how you left it the last time you spent the night with him there over half a year ago. One of his jackets is still draped over the couch, one of your ties thrown haphazardly on the ground—you remember the night vividly, the way he smiled against your lips as he lead you into the back bedroom, stumbling over each other and fumbling with buttons as you tried to undress the other while walking to the room, high off the success of a mission that everyone had said would fail because the odds were so stacked against the two of you. Even Chuuya had laughed in your face when you said you’d take the mission, but you knew so long as Dazai had your back on it, it would work out in your favor. 

He’s woken up several times, you don’t even know what he’s saying in his incoherent babbles. Every time he wakes back up, he’s calling for you, stumbling out of the bed you laid him in after getting him cleaned up and crashing to the ground before he reaches the hall. It’s irritating, you have to go back to help him back into the bed every time and he starts babbling again, passing out before you can figure out what he’s saying. You finally had to move yourself into the back bedroom with him so he didn’t try to get up again.

You don’t know why you’re still here. 

You lean your forehead against your hand as you sit on the bed next to where he’s lying, one leg tucked beneath you while the other hangs over the side. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want him to get up drunk trying to look for you and then crack his head open, but it’s a weak excuse because Dazai Osamu is not your issue anymore. It’s not your job to watch over him when he gets shit-faced drunk, it’s not your job to patch him up when he gets hurt, it’s not your job to look out for him. 

He left you, not vice versa, You don’t owe him anything. He lost that privilege when he betrayed you. Fuck the Port Mafia, he betrayed you when he left without a word. You deserved better than that. You deserved a goodbye. You don’t owe him shit. You should leave him here to rot in his own vomit and blood but-

But you won’t.

Your gaze drifts back over to him. He’s still out cold—cleaner now, because it had never just been ‘get him somewhere safe and then go back to the base,’ as soon as you got him into the safehouse you wrangled him into the bathroom to clean him up. He was uncharacteristically pliant as you manhandled him into the shower. You suppose it was because he was unconscious for half of it but even for the moments where he was awake and blearily blinking the water out of his eyes, looking up at you through wet bangs with those stupid big eyes of his, as if he was still unsure if you were actually there.

Instinctively, you reach out to brush the back of your knuckles against his swollen, split lip, wondering if it was just from him being clumsy while drunk or if he’d managed to piss someone off at a bar. Both are equally likely—Dazai is a rather cantankerous drunk when he’s alone and drunk on whiskey, and even after cleaning him up and dousing him in soap to get out the reeking scent of his vomit out from where it’d sunken into his skin, shoving a toothbrush into his mouth to brush his teeth and scrubbing so they don’t rot from the bile, you can still smell the whiskey on his breath.

You wonder how much he drank. His skin is still pale, his breath shuddered, and he’s shivering even though you wrapped him in three thick blankets. Some degree of alcohol poisoning, that’s for sure. You tell yourself that’s why you’re not leaving—you don’t want to leave before you’re sure he’s pulled through the worst of it. You’re not going to admit to yourself that you don’t want to leave because you’re worried it’ll be the last time you see him for real this time. 

You hesitate right before your knuckles brush his skin, swallowing thickly before you withdraw your hand back into your lap, eyes sliding shut as you sigh.

What the hell are you doing?

If anyone from the Port Mafia knew what you were doing right now, you’d be hunted down right alongside him, branded as a traitor and sentenced to death. Chuuya would kill you if he knew what you were doing right now—and not because you betrayed the Port Mafia by helping Dazai, instead because you’re a fucking idiot. You’ve done a lot of stupid things in your life, but this might take the cake for the stupidest, sticking your neck out for someone who didn’t even care enough to tell you goodbye. 

You rub your forehead, tired. You try to summon the anger you felt when you first found out he betrayed the Port Mafia from Mori and Chuuya—from the hot fury you felt in the direct aftermath, screaming and breaking everything you could get your hands on as you cursed his name and burned everything he left in your apartment to the cold rage you felt when you finally calmed down, bitter and lonely and betrayed by the one person you never thought would betray you—but you can’t. And you think it’s pathetic because what use is all of that anger if you can’t utilize it when the reason for it is lying right before you?

If Chuuya were here right now, he’d drag you out by the hair and leave Dazai to suffer on his own. You left your phone in the kitchen after turning off your location, because he was already buzzing incessantly wondering where you are. You’d told him that you wanted to stop by one of the fishing ports in Kanazawa to check on a small weapons shipment that should’ve arrived earlier in the night before heading back to your shared apartment—you’d moved in with him after Dazai’s betrayal. He made the executive decision himself, not giving you a choice in the matter because he realized that you living on your own in the apartment that Dazai had practically moved into with you was not conducive to you healing from his betrayal.

Plus, you think he was lonely too without Dazai around anymore, but he’d never admit that.

You should’ve been back an hour ago. You’re sure that he’s getting suspicious and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to track you down. You don’t think he knows about this safe house in particular, Dazai had threatened you with piling up mission reports onto you if you told him about this one, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Chuuya learned about it through other means—somehow, he always seems to know everything. 

You sigh again, heavier this time as you try to figure out what to do. You know what you should do, but you also know you’re not going to do that. Your gaze drags back over to him and your breath catches when you realize he’s awake again, bleary brown eyes trained on you, brows furrowed. 

His lips part to speak again and you tense, waiting for whatever he has to say, unsure if you’ll even understand it.

“You… came with me. You never come with me. Are you… really here?” 

Even though his eyes are still glazed over and muddled, his voice is less garbled than it was before. You think that’s a good sign, but even so, you let out an even heavier sigh, this one more irritated, and a bit confused because you don’t even know what that means: you never come with me. 

“Yes, Dazai,” you say sharply, but then you let out a puff of air. The same memories that hit you before coming right back to you, remembering all of the nights Dazai would stay up having to take care of you, patient in a way that he never was with anybody. You soften your voice a bit as you say, “Yes. I’m here.”

Dazai looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. He blinks once slowly, then his brows furrow deeper and his lips turn downward.

“You don’t call me Dazai.” He speaks the accusation slowly, as if to make himself sound more coherent, but you can still hear the clear slur in his voice. “You never-”

You turn away because if you don’t, you think you might lose your temper. He’s drunk, you remind yourself, but he’s still ripping open wounds that never properly healed, because how dare he expect you to still call him by his given name after everything. It had taken months for you to get used to calling him Dazai again and-

You feel your chest start to cave in again and your throat spasms. Your eyes flutter shut and god, you want to hate him. You thought you did hate him, you convinced yourself of it in all of the bitter rage and acidic betrayal you’ve felt the past seven months but now that you’re confronted with him again, you know that it was never hate. You could never hate Dazai Osamu. You'd just missed him so terribly that the pain was easy to mistake as hate; love and hate has always been a treacherously thin line, and Dazai more than anyone else wavers on either side of it.

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap from your chest and crawl right back to him, you have to physically place your hand over your chest as if to hold it in place, to make sure the traitorous thing can’t go back to the very man that tore it shreds. You force yourself to breathe, in and out, steady, trying to settle down. 

This was a mistake, you realize, this was a mistake. 

Just as you’re about to push yourself up, you feel lithe fingers curl around your arm. You freeze, not even daring to glance back at Dazai. You can hear him pushing the covers off of him as he crawls closer to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His movements are unsteady, and you can’t bring yourself to push him off of you when you feel him slump against your back.

His weight is familiar, comforting in a way that it shouldn’t be. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that you’re back at the Port Mafia base seven months ago and Dazai is draping himself across your back, complaining about being overworked by Mori and trying to convince you to take over his paperwork. You’d have to drag him halfway across the base trying to get to your office with his dead weight hanging onto you, you remember all of the wary stares from your subordinates as they try not to let their gaze linger on the two of you but let their curiosity get the best of them regardless.

You hate that you don’t push him off right away, that you’re letting yourself indulge in his touch again. You’ve moved on from this—from him. It’s been seven months. You’re over all of this.

“You… understand, don’t you?” 

You barely hear the words muffled against your back, but you do and you can’t help but stiffen at them. He shifts against you, fingers biting into your skin as he pulls himself up a bit more to bury his face in the crook of your neck, arms looped around your waist as he leans all of his weight onto your back. You can feel his breath warm and shuddered against your neck, making your hair stand on end, and his hands are limp in your lap now, fingers brushing against the material of the clean slacks you’d pulled on after getting Dazai showered.

It’s all so familiar that it could make you sick.

“How could I?” you ask bitterly, even though you know you shouldn’t take out your resentment on him while he’s so drunk; he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning anyway. There’s no point, you’ll just be wasting your energy.

His arms tighten around you, breath hitching against your skin. “I had to, Odasaku-”

The noise you let out is such a sharp scoff that you can feel Dazai flinch behind you. You almost shove him off of you but you refrain, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself down. You never really had any feelings about Odasaku—he was always just there, you heard about him from Dazai occasionally and he seemed pleasant enough the few times you encountered him—but after all of this, you can’t help but hold a grudge against him, irrationally blaming him for Dazai leaving you.

“Odasaku wasn’t your only friend,” you say tightly. “You had me. Chuuya. You-”

“It’s not the same,” Dazai protests, clinging to you as if he hadn’t just driven a knife right through your back into your heart. 

This time you do shove him off, barely sparing him a glance as he lets out a surprised yelp, sprawling back onto the bed. You push away the mistiness that threatens your eyes, breathing in and out slowly to try to keep yourself calm. It’s not the same, you repeat his words, bitterness poisoning your blood and clouding your head. What the fuck does that even mean? You know logically you should take his words with a grain of salt, that he’s so drunk he probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but you just feel so angry that it’s hard for you to keep that in mind. 

You hear him scrambling behind you: a thump as he hits the floor hard and then a rush of movement as he pushes himself to his knees. His fingers curl around your ankle before you can get further away and you have a half a mind to kick him off of you and leave.

You don’t.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads. He drags himself to his knees, pulling at your pants and it takes all of your self-control to not look back down at him. “I didn’t-it came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?” you ask him, even though you by all means should not even bother to hear his shitty explanation.

“I just-I didn’t mean it like that.” You’ve never heard Dazai’s voice crack before, but it does now. “Don’t leave. I miss you.”

“You miss me?” you spit out, and you finally turn to look down at him—a mistake, of course, because he’s on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with those stupid, big brown eyes and you almost let your anger fizzle away at the sight of it. He’s drunk, you remind yourself again, but it doesn’t stop you from snapping at him. “You left me, Dazai. You have no right to miss me.”

“But I do.” His fingers fumble for your hand, grabbing one of yours with both of his. “I miss you so much, I think about you all the time.”

His lashes flutter, fingers brushing along your forearm as he presses his lips to your knuckles and then to your pulse point before leaning forward to rest his forehead on your thigh. You can’t even look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the wall, because your lashes feel wet and heavy and you know that you’ll give into him if you look at him now and he doesn’t deserve that.

“I couldn’t go to you before I left,” Dazai whispers and he sounds oddly coherent now even though you know he’s not. “I would’ve asked you to come with me.”

For some reason, that hurts worse than if he’d just admitted he didn’t care enough to say goodbye. Because what does that even mean, I would’ve asked you to come with me, would that have been so bad? He didn’t want you with him? Why wouldn’t he have wanted you with him? If you had left, he would’ve been the first person you ran to, begging him to come with you.

“How terrible that would’ve been,” you say, and you’re proud that your voice remains cold and steady, not betraying the hurt ripping through your chest.

“I wouldn’t have been able to handle it,” he says, voice breaking over a hiccup. “Odasaku had just died and-”

He cuts himself, and you dare to look down at him when you feel him lift his face from your thigh. You regret it immediately. Glassy, glazed-over eyes beg for you to understand, and you scare yourself because you want to understand when he shouldn’t even matter to you anymore. You’ve moved on. You have. It’s been seven months. He left you without a word. So why do you care so much for what he has to say right now?

“You wouldn’t have come with me,” he says, shaking his head. “You would’ve said no. You never would have chosen me over the Mafia.”

Your lips part to deny the allegations, to say that of course, you would have come with him, but the words fizzle out before they even form on your tongue because-

“You can’t even bring yourself to deny it, can you?” Dazai asks, and although he sounds more cogent now, you can’t help but notice that he’s starting to look sick again, the back of his throat making that faint clicking sound it always makes when he’s about to throw up. “You never would have chosen me.”

You would choose Dazai Osamu over a lot of things. You would choose to save his life before yours if put in the position, and you would choose to trust him over anyone else in the whole world. You’d follow him to the depths of hell and deep into the shadows, until your blood is black and corrupted and you’re entirely irredeemable, but you can’t follow him into the light. 

You can’t choose him if it means betraying the Port Mafia. With his defection, the two have become mutually exclusive: Dazai or the Port Mafia, there’s no way of having both anymore. The boy you’ve come to love or the only home you’ve ever known. The only family you’ve ever had. A shitty family maybe, but a family nonetheless. If you don’t belong with the Port Mafia, you don’t belong anywhere on this earth, and as someone who’s always had a desperate fear of alienation, the thought makes you sick.

You stare at him, throat tight, and then you say, colder than you intend for it to come across, “... If that’s really why you didn’t say goodbye, then I’m glad you didn’t put me in that position.”

The expression that crosses Dazai’s face is something caught between ruin and shock—and you can’t help but wonder if he held out hope, thinking maybe he was wrong in his assumptions. That there had been a chance that you might’ve chosen him if he’d given you the option. That he’s been living his life in the what-ifs for the past seven months and now that he’s finally gotten the chance to bare his heart to you, you’ve crushed it.

Your chest tightens, your throat spasms and it takes all your self-control to not immediately take back the words, regret flooding you so intensely that it nearly makes you physically stumble. Because it’s true, you never would have picked Dazai over the Mafia, but he didn’t have to know that—especially not now, when he’s drunk and vulnerable in a way that he’s never allowed himself to be before.

You hope, for his sake and your conscience, that he doesn’t remember any of this in the morning.

His lips part to respond again but his hand is flying to his mouth instantly, doubling over, and you’re cursing, reaching for the trash bin you’d brought into the bedroom and falling to your knees next to him, helping him kneel upright and holding the trash bin in front of him as he starts gagging again.

“I would’ve-” He’s still trying to talk through the bouts of nausea, gasping over air, body trembling as he leans into you for balance.

You don’t want to hear what he has to say.

“Dazai-”

“I would’ve chosen you,” he finally forced out, voice breaking over the words and you’re not sure if it’s a sob or another heave that escapes his lips as he continues. “If the positions were reversed, I would’ve chosen you.”

Oh.

The words echo in your head so loudly that it makes you want to cover your ears even though you know it won’t do anything. You want to accuse him of lying, tell him that he’s full of shit and just trying to make you feel guilty, but you don’t think he’s capable of lying right now and you don’t think this is anything Dazai would have ever admitted to you if he was sober. He guards his heart more carefully than anyone you’ve ever met—in the two and a half years you’d known him, he never admitted he cared about you. You knew it just from how he treated you, but you think he might’ve ripped his own tongue out before actually admitting it.

You wrap an arm around him as his whole body shudders through another gag and he tries to push you off—angry, upset, you don’t know what he might be feeling because you’ve never seen him like this before—but your arm only tightens around him and Dazai crumbles.

He heaves again, clutching the small garbage can to his face as he throws up all of the water you’d managed to get in him before he passed out earlier. Tears spill over his cheeks, his face is pale and his lashes are fluttering again, on the verge of passing back out. You swallow thickly as he leans into you, letting him collapse into your chest after he’s finished vomiting.

“Will-” he tries to say, but his voice is slurred and weak. He’s desperately trying to stay conscious, you can tell, but he’s fighting a losing battle. “Will you be here in the morning?”

No.

You don’t want to say it, you think you’ve done enough damage for the night, but there’s no need. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dazai is slumping over unconscious, head laying limp on your arm, lashes brushing his cheek. You sigh as your grip around him tightens before you adjust him in his arms to carry him back into the bed, laying him comfortably beneath the covers.

You don’t linger for long after that. After another hour or two passes and Dazai doesn’t wake up again, you make your way back into the bedroom, raising your hand to his face to brush away the dark locks in his eyes before cupping his cheek. Even in his sleep, he leans into your touch, and it makes your chest feel so agonizingly tight that you think you might be having a heart attack.

You lean down to press your lips to his forehead, to his nose, and then to his lips, indulging yourself one last time. Your forehead rests against his as you consider your words—there are a million things you’d like to say to him before you leave, but you don’t have nearly enough time to get them all off of your chest.

Instead, you tell him softly, “I hope you don’t remember any of this in the morning.” You don’t move your hand from where it’s caressing his cheek as you stand straight again, thumb drawing absent circles on his skin. Your voice is thick with emotion, eyes welling with tears that don’t spill over. “We’ll meet again one day.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning with a hangover so bad that he thinks he might die.

He sits up in bed and is instantly groaning, hand flying to his forehead as his brain throbs inside of his skull. He needs to figure out where he is—the last thing he remembers is…

The bar?

His eyes slide shut as he tries to think, but it only makes his head hurt more. He flops back onto the bed, arms splayed out. He still feels nauseous, he can feel it rising to his throat and he desperately does not want to throw up again—it’s one thing vomiting when he’s too drunk to remember, it’s an entirely different thing to vomit while he’s sober and conscious. 

Dazai thinks he might rather die. 

He lets out a heavy sigh as he begs the nausea to go away, breathing in and out deeply. He lifts his hand to brush a lock of hair away from where it’s tickling his ear and-

Ouch.

Dazai’s eyes fly open again, confused now, as he rips his hand away from where he’d touched his ear to stare up at the ceiling. He’s used to waking up with odd injuries after a night of blacking out at whatever bar will still have him, but his ear is a particularly strange place to be wounded, isn’t it?

Driven by curiosity now, he forces himself into a sitting position, and it’s only when he pushes himself out of bed, does he finally start to recognize the room he’s in. His lips part in a distinct mixture of shock and confusion as he looks around the room slowly, making his way over to the mirror.

The safehouse in Sakae?

His chest feels heavier instantly, and a tight feeling rises to his throat as he catches sight of an old jacket of yours draped on the desk chair, the one that had ripped during the last mission you went on together—just the way you left it the last time the two of you were here. A pair of his old dress shoes are lying haphazardly outside the closet door, he’s sure that if he peeks into the closet, all of your suits will be hanging there because you refused to share the closet with him so all of his spares are stuffed in the dresser. Dazai suddenly feels sick again and he doubts it’s from the hangover this time.

How did he get here?

He needs another drink desperately.

But first… Dazai leans over the dresser to look into the mirror—a bit dusty after so many months with no one stopping in—he lifts his hand to brush his hair behind and then-

What?

His jaw drops and his brows furrow, his fingers graze over where the top of his ear used to be, only to find the whole upper quarter of it missing. 

What the fuck? He mouths as he stares at the missing cartilage, and then he looks back around the room, and just as his eyes catch a trash bin that should be in the bathroom, his vision blurs, and his head is aching. He’s suddenly stumbling down an alley, he’s lying in a puddle of his own vomit, unable to stand up straight. He can hear someone approaching and he knows he should get up, find some dumpster or crevice to wait out the night until he’s sober enough to get the fuck out of the heart of the Mafia’s territory in Yokohama, but he can hardly move.

He can lift his head from the pavement just enough to-

Just enough to see you.

Dazai can hardly cope with the emotions that rattle his chest. Longing, because he’s missed you so terribly the past seven months. Disbelief, because you shot his fucking ear off. And… and Dazai isn’t quite sure what the other emotions are. They’re heavy and light at the same time, his chest feels bubbly but his ankles feel chained—it’s a weird mixture of hope and dread, he thinks, because the safehouse is eerily quiet, seemingly void of any life other than Dazai himself, but the chance that you might still be here…

“Will you be here in the morning?”

The faint memory of the last words he spoke before he passed out the last time rings through his head, and his feet drag against the ground as he forces himself to move from the bedroom into the main room of the safe house. His fingers hesitate against the wood of the door—scared that he’s going to open it and you won't be there, scared that he’s going to open it and you will be there. He doesn’t remember the things he said to you last night, but he knows that he’d been staring at old pictures the two of you took before he blacked out. He can hardly imagine the things he might’ve said to you when given the chance.

It takes all of his strength and all of his willpower to push open the door. 

It takes even more to actually step out of the bedroom.

The safe house is empty.

You’re nowhere to be found.

Dazai’s feet are moving before he’s fully even registered what’s happening.

He makes his way into the kitchen to rummage around for another bottle for him to drown away his sorrows, but he doesn’t pull out the untouched bottle of his favorite whiskey he knows is sitting in the cabinet—he goes straight for the wine fridge. He nearly shatters three bottles of whites before he finally gets his hands on your favorite red, the one you’d asked him to stock up in there for you three days before he left, knowing that the two of you had a mission coming up and you’d be celebrating here, as always. Not knowing that he’d have betrayed you by then. 

He struggles to uncork it, the frustration causing his headache to return with a vengeance. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to finally get the bottle open, but when he does, he brings it to his lips immediately, eyes sliding shut as he downs a few generous gulps.

The taste is familiar. Pleasant. It makes his heart ache with such an intense longing for you that it nearly makes him throw up.

He can almost imagine that he’s tasting it off of your lips instead.

He leans over the counter, elbows digging into the marble as he tries to push away the ugly feelings ripping apart his chest. He can’t. He never can. He hasn’t been able to since the day he left you behind seven months ago. He can only numb it.

With a hand closed around the neck of the bottle, Dazai slides down the cabinet to sit on the ground. His cheeks feel wet, but he doesn’t dare lift his hand to acknowledge the tears sliding down them.

Instead, he lifts the bottle to his lips again and drowns himself in the memories of you for another night. 

[ch6sos]

more nanami headcanons (but as your bf !!!)

a/n: hey everyone! thank you for all the support on my last headcanon post. i never really expected it to go far, but somehow it did. it was my first time ever posting a "fic" you know? i was cringing the entire time but it was worth it, for you guys :) since it did well, here is some more!

i used third person by the way so you're referred to as his partner. tried to make this as gender neutral as possible cuz i love you guys

cw: slight suggestiveness (ooooh... but it's not extreme you sillies)

Extreme gentleman. He respects their wishes all the time. If they want space, he will give it to them. He will give them whatever they ask for.

Pays on the first date. He forbids their significant other from doing anything. He will pay because he wants to. He truly wants to, not because he feels obligated to.

Would be kind of shy about doing anything at first, especially Teen!Nanami. Even after a long period of dating, he would always ask before showing affection because he does not know if they feel comfortable or okay with it.

"May I please hold your hand? Are you okay with that?

"...We've been dating for a month."

"I know, but, I must ask, you know? In case it makes you uncomfortable.”

When he (as well as they) grow comfortable, the affection begins to become more "intense." Not intense, but he does it more frequently. He holds their hand more, gives more kisses, more hugs...

He would give the best hugs. He is a cuddle machine. He appears to hate them, but does he truly? Exactly. No, he does not. He loves them so much. He wishes he could give up his job to spend the entire day cuddling with his partner.

"Stay close to me, please."

"I don't plan on moving."

"Good. I wish life were like this every day." He hums, squeezing them gently.

Kisses with him are never short; even if he is late. He never leaves his significant other hanging. He craves and desires to kiss them. He enjoys giving his partner a passionate kiss, drawing them near to his chest, and placing his hand behind their head, leaving a memory of the kiss that is warm, tender, and unforgettable.

Genuinely feels like he could share his emotions with his significant other. Yeah, he is still serious, because it's who he is. He was raised in a family surrounded by serious people. Though, throughout the relationship, he learns how to express his emotions better. He feels like he genuinely could reveal all the emotions he has stored in him already around his significant other. If he's feeling upset, he would genuinely express that to them. If something ticked him off, he would sit down and talk to his partner about it.

Despite all of that, he still is more of a listener than a rambler. He prefers putting others first before him, and that also goes for who gets to talk. He enjoys looking at their partner with a loving gaze, as they talk nonsense. Whether it is about the new show they picked up, their day, or the latest gossip, he loves listening.

He would write love letters. I do not care if you find that corny. He is corny. He will write love letters. Nanami is romantic. I don't care what anyone says he is a romance god who does not get to show it off as much. He loves writing lengthy letters, showing the love he has for his partner. Describes their personality and how much he cherishes them, how much he thinks they're beautiful, and how he thinks that they are the stars in the night sky that stand out.

Playing with his partner's hair is (one of) his favorite ways to show affection. If they have long hair, he loves to try styling it and ruffling it. If they have type 4 coily hair, he starts learning how to take care of it so he can try protective hairstyles on them.

Another thing is lazy Sundays. He loves Sundays. Even though he has to go to stupid work the next day. The sensation of them being in his arms when he wakes up, his arms encircling their bodies firmly, the sheets covering them. He enjoys gently leaning in to kiss their shoulders, the top of their head, and the back of their neck. When they began to stir, he pulled them closer— not wanting to get out of bed. All he wants is to spend Sunday morning in bed with his lovely partner.

Gets flushed at compliments, but it is not as obvious. When their significant other says he is handsome, he smiles softly and thanks them, but on the inside, he is freaking out.

Cooks breakfast in bed for them. Always. He loves getting up just to make his significant other the tastiest breakfast ever; it is his specialty. He prepares a warm beverage and some fruit-flavored crepes topped with Nutella and whipped cream.

Before meeting them, Nanami was kind of an insomniac. He would not sleep; hence why he has dark circles. But after meeting them, he started sleeping more. Despite everything, he continues to get up before his partner to prepare breakfast for them.

Not only that but when he was stressed, he would drink his sorrows away rather than confide in someone. Since the fan book claims that he enjoys drinking, I think that, unfortunately, one of his coping mechanisms is doing exactly that. However, since meeting them, he has kept everything under control. He learned to express himself more freely and genuinely strives to avoid suppressing his emotions.

Bro is a simp. His mouth drops when he sees his partner dressed. His jaw falls to the floor. He is stuttering a bit too. I know he is supposed to be calm and collected but he would NOT be calm and collected around his significant other, people. He would go feral and be a simp for them.

He says I love you first. It was quite unexpected and seemed to come out of nowhere. He just blurted it out without waiting for the perfect moment or anything else. It was probably a simple morning, cuddling with him on the bed as usual, looking at each other fondly, and he said, "You know how much I adore you, right?"

When he realizes what he is saying, his eyes widen slightly, but then crinkle up when they tell him they love him as well.

He will do whatever his partner says. They could be 5'2 or around his height; he is a certified simp who immediately attends to their partner's needs.

Even if that includes forcibly doing silly TikTok trends. He pretends to hate it but he doesn't. He is a munch or whatever Ice Spice said.

He enjoys nuzzling his partner. Guys, I do not care. This man is a bundle of love wrapped up in a stoic-looking man. He enjoys sneaking up behind them, entrapping them in his arms, and nuzzling their neck and the top of their head. Wherever he wants, whenever he wants. And he utters sweet nothings. And leaves tiny, delicate kisses. He also wraps his arms around their waist.

He sometimes becomes overwhelmed, so he requires his own space. However, he does not simply distance himself from his partner. He properly expresses that sometimes he needs his own space. He still adores them but also needs some space. He does not want to cause conflict or misunderstanding because he is not that type of person.

Will be there for them when they are sick, even if they believe they look disgusting. He does not care; he believes they are the most beautiful sight he has ever seen in his entire life (which was cut short) (sorry, I am still coping). He will be there to care for them whether they are throwing up, crying, or whatever.

He cooks for them, he gives them medicine, he cuddles them even though he knows he may get sick...

And he does. Every single time. And he acts like a baby too.

Adorable tall, strong man Nanami acts like a baby when he's sick. He needs to be looked after completely. He starts off coughing (like a grandfather or a father). So his cough is obnoxious and loud, and he frowns. He then looks up at his partner, his expression reminiscent of a puppy who has been denied treats. It is an adorable sight. It's a turnaround from his usual chill demeanor. He then spends the entire day in bed, despite his attempts to do his routine tasks like cleaning and cooking for them, which they forbid. And he pouts about it like a big baby.

"Please let me take care of you. You took care of me, so now it's my turn."

"No, you're sick, Kento."

"That doesn't matter." He frowns.

“You always take care of me anyway.”

“But it is my honor to take care of you, my love.”

and then they end up having seven mental breakdowns

If they bring home a stray one day, he is reluctant on taking it but you know damn well he'd be like one of those dads that is hesitant about taking it at first but then ends up cuddling it the next day and then begging for them to not take it to the shelter.

Genuine sweetheart. Holds the door for their significant other, makes arrangements for them when they can not find the time, prepares meals for them, and if they come from a different culture, he starts to learn about it, particularly if they are involved in it.

...This guy is in no way aggressive. I have seen people mischaracterize him as a dominant "daddy" or whatever because he is serious, and Mappa blessed us with the hair-pulling scene. That scene was primarily caused by rage at Haruta's thoughtless harm to those around him and the fact that the man was going against two young girls. He would never act in such a way toward their partner, particularly when they were in bed. He is more of a gentle lover and is afraid of going too far.

Needs are needs, so if they ask, he will comply with some hesitation. He never seemed to get into it, so he tells them that.

That does not mean he is not into some stuff. Bro be praising. He praises hella and talks them through it.

"My love, doing so well for me."

"So beautiful, so gorgeous, all sprawled out for me like this."

“You’re mine. Until the end of time, angel.”

“God. My love, my everything. You drive me wild, you know that?”

“Eyes on me, sweetheart. Want to see how breathtaking you are from here.” All in his deep, ragged and needy voice.

that made me cringe

help I'm crying at the cringe so sorry

His favorite dates with them involve going to a restaurant. Nanami knows some hidden gems, so he enjoys taking them to restaurants where they can eat delicious food. Being a food enthusiast, it goes without saying that he is aware of the good and bad places to go. Because of Nanami's exquisite taste, they have never had to worry about their food.

As I previously stated, he prefers traditional nicknames such as sweetheart, my love, darling, angel, and beloved. I do not see him calling his significant other "baby," "baby girl," or whatever; I believe he finds it cringe-worthy. This is self-indulgent oops.

Sings softly to them while they are sleeping. He sings a song while they are sleeping because he is too ashamed of his singing. His vocals are not bad; he is just shy. (Little did he know, they had several recordings of him singing in secret...)

He will sacrifice his blanket in bed just to wrap it around his partner if they're cold. Bro would give them 90004868787893 pillows, and 8 blankets if they said they were cold.

He exaggerates things. And when I say he exaggerates, I mean he goes to great lengths to win his partner over. If they enter a new niche, he buys *everything*. On date nights, he gives them large bouquets if they like that, and he treats them as if they were royalty.

"You didn't need to get me this entire figure collection from *series*... I feel so bad."

"Well, do not worry, I enjoy buying these things for you. I see how happy you are, and it immediately warms my heart.”

Arguments with him are not bad. He truly never gets upset to the point of yelling because that is not who he is—he is not a guy who yells and he does not want to cause trauma to people in general. Again, though, he seems composed, and it might be frightening. But he then does something right away that causes his partner to instantly give in. Bro could just breathe and they're like "OKAY" and yeah. I understand. I would fold so hard bro.

His love languages include quality time and acts of service. He loves spending every single second with his partner and is immediately angry at the world when he has to work overtime and can not have more time with them. He enjoys taking them on dates or simply staying at home on lazy days. He loves spending time with them. Furthermore, he expresses his love by doing things for his partner, such as assisting them with their work (if he could), giving them massages when they are stressed, cooking for them all the time, washing their dishes even when they beg him not to, eating the olives off of their plate if there are any... He is the king of acts of service.

He is not good at taking pictures. His large thumb keeps covering the lens, so they have to force him to take the pictures repeatedly. Despite this, he never becomes irritated because he gets butterflies just watching his partner pose in their gorgeous clothes.

Speaking of photos, he already had an Instagram account beforehand. (As much as he hates to admit it, Gojo is sometimes the one who takes the aesthetic photos on his page.) He was not active, but he has a few posts on it, but as soon as they got a partner, oh lord Jesus. Bro will post on his Instagram story every single second.

Even though this happens, he prefers to make his relationship private. Private but known, you know? He wants the world to know that he is lucky enough to date them, but still not reveal information or talk about his relationship to anyone. So he would take those private but not secret type relationship photos.

Captions are always complimenting them and are extremely poetic. He's just that guy.

"saw a breathtaking sight. the beach is also there."

“every aspect of you captivates me, body and soul.”

"we are all floating around with the stars and the universe, and it somehow led me to you."

cringes again

Off-topic but not, Nanami would NEVER, and I mean... NEVER, go for his student if he was a professor, even if their relationship is legal. I can't stand it when people do that. He understands that there's a power dynamic behind it and it's low-key creepy how much people enjoy it.

Along with stepcest. Why do so many of you like stepcest? Nanami is not touching any of his family members. I'm scared to say this and this is probably hella controversial for this app but he's not touching anyone even if they're not technically related.

Age gap too. He would not date someone extremely younger than him. He is not going to be 40 and dating a 19-year-old. I just can't see it.

Other than that, he does not have any preferences when it comes to appearance. He has turn-offs, but not in terms of appearance. He could care less about what someone looks like.

In terms of personality, he dislikes negative people. He despises that. He would feel guilty if he became involved with someone unconcerned about the world. He also dislikes immaturity and pettiness.

He prefers people who bring positivity into his life, you know? Someone much more outgoing than he is, but still a mature person with whom he could relate. The more extroverted they are the more they bring out of him. As long as they're not so overwhelming to him.

Even so, he simply enjoys people for their kindness and consideration. How willing they are, how passionate and motivated they are. He simply wants someone who is driven by their goals.

Texts them dad memes he found on Facebook.

“Look at it, it’s funny.”

“...lol”

“You laughed at least a little bit right?

“...No?”

“Okay. I apologize :(“

LAUGH AT HIS FACEBOOK MEMES PLEASE. THEY ARE NOT THAT BAD PLEASE.

When he met their family, he appeared calm and collected, but he was nervous. He was fidgety on the way to their house, something he had only ever done in high school. He experiences anxiety about whether he would be accepted by them or whether he would be good enough.

“Wow, I have never seen you this fidgety before.”

"I apologize. It’s just… What your family might think worries me. I am not sure if I will meet their expectations. I simply want to let them know how much I genuinely adore you for who you are and how much I want to be yours forever."

And they are like ??? because this man is perfect? He is the dream man anyone could ever ask for.

Do not take this man mini golfing bro he sucks ass… I know you guys think just because he is partly white he will immediately be good at golf but no. He sucks ass.

He would be protective, but not excessively so. He is devoted to his partner and will intervene quickly if someone upsets them, intimidating them with his composed demeanor.

"I advise you to distance yourself from them before I regretfully have to take action, okay? We wouldn’t want that, right?” Dumbledore says, calmly. While puffing out his chest. And mewing. And mogging. Whatever that means.

Okay fine, he will watch Jersey Shore, The Real Housewives, Love & Hip-Hop, etc with them. Pretends to hate it but he is invested.

Imagine just going to the bedroom and just seeing him in his reading glasses, sitting up against the headboard, immersed in the book in front of him. The only thing he has on is a simple white tee that does justice to his figure and pajama pants.

Yup feral.

Tries to get into the things their partner likes just so he can understand when they yap about certain things. He just wants them to talk about everything to him. He finds it adorable.

Allows their partner to give him a skincare treatment. He then begins to do it himself. Well, he would only use one product—a cleanser. That being said, he started using toner, serum, and other skincare products. And, yes, he allows them to put ridiculously cute facemasks on his face. And the cute little star pimple patches.

Do not take that man ice skating or rollerblading either. He would be so hesitant on going because he sucks at it. He just goes because his significant other told him to. He fell immediately.

“This sucks.”

“Stop sulking and hold my hand.”

“...You don’t even need to ask.” He says, all giddy.

Please show him the love and care he deserves.

When he works out he will flex on them on purpose. He thinks it is all funny to be all yummy. It is NOT funny.

Yup, he does push-ups while they’re underneath, each time he goes down he gives them a peck.

Yeah so imagine that with him in his compression shirt and shorts…

I could read your mind, people. You are not slick.

This man will not let his significant other have insecurities. He is the type to leave notes all over the bathroom, and every mirror, with encouraging words. Praising their looks and more. Plus he shows in…other ways (wink) how much he appreciates how beautiful he thinks they are.

If they are unhappy, he will truly be devastated. He is miserable when he sees them upset, so he does everything in his power to cheer them up. Whether that’s cooking something for them, taking care of them, trying to make them laugh, getting them something from the store, or sitting down and talking to them about their problems, he needs to make them feel happy.

When he drives, he would not put his hand on his partner’s thigh. He would much rather grab their hand, and put it on his lap, as he listens to them hum along to the radio. He purposely moves the mirror slightly toward them, just so he can see how pretty they are through the mirror. He also looks at them with a slight smile at every stop-light, occasionally leaving small pecks on their face.

Does not mind if they steal his clothes. Go on then silly. He could care less. He thinks it’s cute as hell.

Would teach them how to do things. For example, he will teach them to play an instrument if they do not already, especially if he knows how. He looks like a lovesick fool as he watches them replicate what he did. Unable to resist the urge, he kisses them without reason.

“What was that for?”

"I could not hold back. You are very tempting."

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes. You are everything I think about and want."

Butterflies all around people.

His only red flag is that sometimes he may prioritize work over his relationship. He unfortunately gets into the stress of work and begins to grind more at work. Call him out and he gets back into his senses.

Buys more storage space for his Samsung S24 Ultra to retrieve more pictures of them. His camera roll is nearly full. Just because of his significant other, his camera roll increased from roughly 150 images to over 13,000 images.

When he comes home from work, he immediately collapses on the couch or their shared bed, on top of them. He then looks like a sleepy puppy.

“Someone’s tired.”

“I hate overtime.”

“I know you do. I cooked something for you.”

“I could have just cooked for the both of us…”

“But I knew you’d come all tired from work. So no.”

“That doesn't matter, you know? I love taking care of you. Just to see that pretty smile on your face.” He pouts, once again.

He ends up making it up to them. You can interpret that however you want.

As soon as this man sees them in formal attire (or in general) it is OVER. His jaw is on the bottom of the earth, his eyes are slightly widened, a blush on his face.

“I have no words. God, I don't know how someone could get even more impossibly perfect, yet here you are, darling. No matter how many times I see you, you still manage to take my breath away.”

yup heart attack

Prepare for so many compliments daily. He talks like a true romance book. None of that Colleen Hoover stuff.

Talks about his partner like a true gentleman. He's not like those types of guys who just talk about their significant other as if they're his property. No. He talks about them as if they are an art piece.

Overall, he just loves his partner so, so much. He expresses it in a variety of ways, from taking care of them—to telling them every single second of the day. In his own words,

"Your presence in my life is like a breath of fresh air, keeping my heart full and content. I love you more than anyone could ever fathom, and I promise you, you have my heart for eternity."

i love him </3 NANMINPLEAEE BE RELALRHABADHDJSKDHSNEB

[vbecker10]

Talk to Me (Part 2)

Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: (4 months after the first part) You and Loki have grown incredibly close, to the point where you both have feelings for each other but are afraid to admit it. One night, you have a nightmare while staying in Loki's room and he calms you but accidentally shows you his Jotun form in the process, triggering his own insecurities.

Warnings: fire (a small one), panic attack, fear of running a friendship, Loki being insecure about being a frost giant

A/N: Well... here's the second part I didn't plan on making lol @irishhappiness made a comment wondering how Loki would comfort Y/N if she has a nightmare which triggered her powers and then this just sort of happened... also there will now be a third part that I am working on 💚

FyI - I used some of my own experiences with panic attacks for this part, I know they are all different but this is just what they feel like when I have them

It's almost midnight when you finally see Stark Tower and smile knowing you are home, and going to see Loki again. You had both been away on missions for the last week but he texted you that he arrived back hours ago. You text Loki and let him know you'll be landing in a few minutes and Thor nudges your shoulder.

"Texting my brother again?" he asks with a smile.

"Yes," you dramatically hold your phone away from him. "Do you mind?"

He laughs, "Of course not. I'm glad to see you two have grown so close."

When the jet finally lands, you walk down the ramp and see Loki waiting for you near the entrance to the building. Thor waves and Loki rolls his eyes, keeping his hands in his pockets. He is unable to hide his smile when he sees you step out from behind his brother.

"I had a feeling it wasn't me he was waiting for," Thor jokes, looking down at you.

"I'm sure he missed you too," you laugh. Loki, as if to prove he is only there for you, walks past his brother without a word and wraps you in a tight hug. You hug him back, your body relaxing instantly the moment you're in his arms again. "You give the best hugs," you mumble against his chest.

"Does he?" Thor asks and takes a step towards his brother when he finally releases you.

Loki faces Thor and reminds him, "Y/N is still the only person allowed to hug me."

You giggle and hit Loki's arm gently, causing him to look back at you, "Be nice."

"I am being nice," he smirks. "I didn't threaten to stab him if he tries to hug me like last time."

You roll your eyes at him but Thor laughs and pats his younger brother on the back hard before leaving you both for the night. You pick up your bag and walk together towards the Tower, telling Loki the highlights of your time away. When you finish, you ask Loki how his mission was.

"Successful of course," he says proudly then he adds, "I wish we had been assigned together. You are far better company than the Captain and Stark. Plus, then I would not have had to miss you."

You giggle and try to hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks at his words. You would have preferred Loki was your partner on your last mission as well, or all of your missions for that matter.

"You should probably head to bed," Loki suggests when you reach the elevators even though the last thing he wants to do is say goodnight to you already.

"Or we could watch the last episode of that show you insist you hate," you offer hopefully. You didn't want to admit you were exhausted, you just needed to spend a little time with him.

He chuckles, "We could do that."

You sit next to Loki on the couch and try to focus on the show but you're finding it difficult. Not only are you fighting to stay awake but Loki is also sitting closer to you then he ever has before. When you first started this show a few months ago, he would sit at the other end of the couch, placing a collection of snacks between the two of you. Over the course of the series, he had gradually started sitting closer and closer to you. You weren't sure if he was doing it on purpose or not but it wasn't something you were going to complain about. Tonight, there is no space left between you, your shoulders touch and his leg rests against yours comfortably.

All you want is to lean into him and feel his arm around you but you don't move. He really has gotten good at giving hugs and you've decided that means he is also very good at cuddling. It is a theory you want to test but your friendship is too important for you to risk it. He is still in such need of a friend and you have to put that first.

You almost make it to the end of the hour long show, but not quite. Your head nods and comes to rest lightly on Loki's shoulder as you finally lose the battle to stay awake. He looks over and smiles when he feels you shift. He could tell you were too tired to watch the show but there was no chance he was going to turn down spending even a minute with you.

He runs his fingers slowly through your hair and you smile in your sleep. You nuzzle against him and he wishes he could hold you the whole night. He knows he can't though, you are simply friends. He sighs, wondering if this is as close as he will ever get to falling asleep with you and places a soft kiss on the top of your head. His heart skips a beat when you respond by mumbling his name in your sleep. Carefully he gets up from the couch and helps you lay down on the pillow he conjured. He waves his hand again and covers you with the softest blanket he can create.

He stands over you for a moment, taking in how cute and peaceful you look curled up under the blanket. He whispers, "Sleep well, darling," then goes into his room.

Loki lays in his bed but finds himself unable to get close to sleep. He wishes he could pick you up and bring you into his bed so he could keep you close. He has never missed anyone the way he misses you, he has never had a person in his life like you before.

When he was a child, it seemed as if he had dozens of friends but they weren't really his. They were Thor's friends and he simply inserted himself in their games. As he grew older, he found it harder and harder to relate to his peers and they slowly distanced themselves from him.

You are the only person who has ever chosen him over Thor or anyone else for that matter. He knew he was truly your first choice when he was the one you came to two months ago when you became an aunt in the middle of the night. He could barely believe the fact that he was the person you wanted to share one of your happiest moments with. He sat with you for over an hour, looking at the same ten pictures of the little new born but he would have done it all night if it meant he could see you smile and listen to you laugh.

He groans and puts his hand over his eyes, there is no doubt in his mind that he is your closest friend and you are his. He can talk to you about anything but the one thing he cannot bring himself to tell you is that he wants to be more than your friend.

Loki's eyes finally close but only moments later he sits up, his body rigid with fear as you scream. He throws off his blankets and runs into the living area.

"Y/N," he says your name in a panic, his heart pounding in his chest at the sight in front of him. You are sitting up on his couch, looking at the blanket he placed over you which is fully engulfed in flames. You hold your hand shakily over the fire but you can't pull the flames back, you are still too frantic from your nightmare to control your powers.

Loki instantly drops his illusion and waves his hands towards you as he comes to your side. The icy air covers the blanket and quickly smothers the fire. You kick off the charred blanket and pull your legs up to your chest, lowering your head on your knees as you breath heavily.

"Are you okay?" he asks, putting his arm around you as he sits on the singed couch. You shake your head no. "What do you need?" he asks but you don't respond.

You squeeze your hands shut tightly to stop them from trembling and look up towards Loki's voice but you are lightheaded and the quick movement makes you dizzy. You know he asked you something but his voice seems far away as does the rest of the room. You can no longer feel the couch you are sitting on or the floor under your feet, you are vaguely aware that you are disassociating but there is nothing you can do to stop it. Your heart pounds faster in your chest and you fear it may never slow down again.

Loki takes your hand and pulls you up from the couch when you don't answer him. He sits on the floor with his back against the couch and guides you down so you are sitting directly in front of him with your back flush to his chest. He takes your hands in his and let's out a quiet gasp of pain when sparks erupt from your fingers.

"Y/N," he whispers in your ear. You mumble his name in return and he asks, "Can you name five things you can see?"

"What?" you ask, confused by the random question. His cool fingers interlace with yours and small clouds of icy air calm the flames that are rise from your hands.

"Tell me five things you can see," he repeats in a low voice.

You try to focus on answering him. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears as you look around the far off living room. Slowly, you list five objects.

"Good, now can you tell me four things you can touch?" he asks quietly.

Your breathing is still ragged as your chest tightens but you push yourself to think about Loki's second question. You take a breath then look around to find the first three objects. "And I can feel your hands," you give Loki your fourth answer, his fingers squeeze your hand gently. As you say each item, you can almost feel the room shrinking to a less distorted size.

"How about three things you can hear?" he asks.

"My breathing," you turn to rest the side of your head on his chest, "Your heart beat and your voice," the answers come quicker now.

"Two things you can smell?" Loki asks, you finally register how worried his voice sounds.

"My shampoo," you answer, suddenly remembering when Loki told you he loved the way your shampoo smelled. You bought four more bottles of the fruit scented soap that weekend. "And your cologne," you tell him, a smile crosses your lips when you inhale deeply and breath in your favorite smell.

"You're doing so well, I just need you to tell me one thing you can taste now," he says.

"Do the apples on your dining table count?" you ask him as your eyes scan his apartment.

"If you think they do, they count," he responds and you nod that they should count. "How do you feel?" he asks after a moment.

"Better," you realize suddenly. Your heart rate feels normal, even your breathing is steady and easy. You are no longer lightheaded and feel as if everything around you is real and not distorted. You ask, "How did you know how to do that?"

"I read that it was a popular grounding technique," he explains. "I looked into ways to help you after you told me your nightmares sometimes triggered panic attacks."

You smile at the effort he had gone through to make sure he could help you, "Thank you Loki." You feel safe and comfortable pressed against Loki and look down, feeling your hands still in his hands. Loki's skin is a deep shade of blue and it takes you a moment to realize why. You shift to face him, his crimson eyes fixed on yours and he smiles. "Is this your Jotun form?" you ask, touching the ridges on his cheek with your fingertips lightly.

His smile vanishes and he immediately shifts back into his Asgardian form, pulling his fingers free from your other hand. "I'm sorry," he says nervously as he gets up and walks away from you.

"For what?" you ask getting up but he ignores you. "Wait, Loki," you call as he heads towards his bedroom and pauses under the door frame. You walk towards him and say, "Please don't do that. Don't shut me out." You slip your hand into his and he looks at you. "You promised you would talk to me, remember?"

He sighs, "I did promise that, didn't I?"

You nod and try to smile, hoping he will open up to you. You are always worried Loki will retreat behind the walls you've worked so hard to break down.

A small smile tugs at his lips and he says, "I don't know what I did to deserve such a fiercely devoted friend."

You shrug and hold your forced smile as you feel a twinge of pain in your chest when he refers to you simply as his friend.

"We will talk in the morning, I promise," he says as he moves to pull you into a hug. "You need to rest."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @kneelingformyloki @jiyascepter @eleniblue @loreniscrying @muddyorbsblr @alyeskathewave @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @javagirl328 @princess-ofthe-pages @morally-grey-variant @soulpiercing @km-ffluv

[moonlits-ocean]

Long Way Home [Part VIII]

[Azriel x Reader fanfic]

Synopsis: Y/n is the daughter of a healer in the city of Velaris. After a small incident, she moves to the House of the Wind to work for the High Lord, Rhysand. Everyone in the house seems to welcome her except Azriel, the second in command. Even though he is just blankly polite and does not acknowledge her much, she can't help but fall for him. Does Azriel return her feelings or remain unfeelingly aloof?

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Read Part 1 here. Read Part 7 here.

Read Part 2 here.

Read Part 3 here.

Read Part 4 here.

Read Part 5 here.

Read Part 6 here.

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Part VIII

Since winter was settling in, there wasn't much work to do outside. My father had cast a powerful spell on the surrounding grounds to keep the water pipes from freezing, and the dead branches to always find their way to our wood stores. 

There was no work to do outside in the gardens, except harvest the fruit(if any) of the already existing plants and trees. 

It was the season of oranges and strawberries, though, and they had grown abundantly. I kept what I needed for myself, then windowed the rest to my father to sell in the market or make wine. He sent me the wine bottles which I stored in the basement underneath the villa. Father had dug it out for storing wine and made a cold storage partition for other items. 

When I was working outside, Azriel remained at a respectful distance and watched me. I had become used to it by now, and there were a couple of times where I had left some of the oranges and strawberries by the front door for him. 

It was my third round of harvesting oranges and I had put up a ladder against a tree, balancing on the rungs with a basket in one hand. I carefully plucked each fruit and deposited them in the basket. There was one fruit just out of my reach, and I leaned a bit further to try and grab it. Before I knew it, I had slipped off the rung and was tumbling on my way to ground. I didn't even have the time to scream, but Azriel intercepted just in time and scooped me up, gently landing on the ground. The ladder had fallen on its side with the basket, the fruits spilling out of it. 

"Careful," he breathed in my ear, and let me stand. 

In Cassian's arms, I had felt excitement rush through me and made my heart race. Like I was standing on a cliff and about to jump.

Azriel's arms held me like they wanted my body to understand that I was safe, and my body responded by making me feel like I was in a tranquil bliss. 

I quickly gathered the fruits, not acknowledging his presence. Leaving the ladder on its side, I entered the villa and closed the door shut. 

That night, as I sank into the hot bath, I laid my head on my forearms and watched him through the window. It was almost a month now, since he started hovering around. I didn't understand it. Why did he run away like that when we discovered we were mates, and why did he come now? 

I wanted to let him in and hear the answers from him, but not yet. I wasn't yet healed from the helplessness and humiliation I felt during the last meal we had together. 

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Two days later, I was harvesting the remaining oranges from the first bloom. Winter rains were frequent around these parts, and I could see storm clouds gathering in the horizon. They predicted a thunderstorm later on. Azriel hadn't arrived yet, and I didn't want him to get caught in the storm. 

It began that night as I settled into bed. Azriel hadn't come at all, and it was good. The heavy rain lashed mercilessly against the windowpanes, and I fell asleep to the sound of it.

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Tags:

@kalulakunundrum @thelov3lybookworm @hnyclover @impossibelle @sourapplex @brujitafantomatico @venuseuripedis @darling006

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Read Part 9 here.

This fanfic can also be found in Wattpad, along with other exclusive parts like playlists and pictures. Here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/358573037-long-way-home

Happy reading! <3

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[I am overwhelmed with the amount of responses I've received for this fanfic. Thank you very much. This will be my last post of this year, as I have exams in my midst until January 7th, 2024. That's why I double posted today. A very happy new year y'all, and see you soon!]

[irisbleufic]

YOUR 3 CATS ARE SO CUTE OMG! How old are they/what are their stories?

Like many young-ish queer married couples, @one-eyed-bossman and I entered the fast track to pet parenthood in 2020. I was still recovering from extensive cancer treatment at the time, which is part of what makes our first kitty especially meaningful to me.

ZEL

Zel is my darling girl. She’s now 5 years old, and when we adopted her in June of 2020, she was already 1 year old. After being rescued on the streets at a few weeks old with her two personable siblings, she spent an entire year at this lady’s house with like 20 other cats at any given time. She was feral and unapproachable, but somehow I was able to get close enough to her at the rescue to pick her up and put her in the carrier. She nailed me with her claws in the process, but that’s the only time she’s ever hurt me or anyone else. The day after we got her home, I stuck my hand behind the bed in her safe room, and she set her little paw square in my palm and left it there for about a minute. I spent a couple of months crawling halfway under the bed to pet her while she was curled in her bed, and eventually I could get her to follow me around the house by asking, “Do you want to go for a walk?” She barely left my side after that. I spent a lot of 2020 sick in bed; she always curled up snugly between my ankles or my knees. She’s now the smartest cat I’ve ever met. Her language recognition shocks me even after 4 years of having her as a silly little shadow who likes to play fetch with her pink-eared mouse toy. She’s stuck to my side any time I’m on the sofa, and about a month ago she climbed fully in my lap for the first time. Her meow is barely a whisper when she does use it (only to talk to me and occasionally to the TV), but the trills, squeaks, and yowls she makes to talk to her toys are hilarious. She doesn’t even talk to her siblings like that. Unlike many white cats, she is not deaf.

NICKY

We got Nicky a year after we got Zel; he was about 8 weeks old when we brought him home in June of 2021. We met a kind lady who periodically bred her lovely Bengal queens, and Nicky was somehow a “non-show-quality” (?!!) discount kitten. He’s sweet, goofy, vocal, afraid of everything/everyone that’s outside the house, and occasionally very naughty. We hoped he would bring Zel the rest of the way out of her shell, and it worked. He just adored her from day one. She took a few months to warm up to him, but they bonded pretty fast. Now, at 3 years old, he’s a big boy—17 pounds. He likes to stand/sit on laps more than he likes to lie down in them, although he will lie down in mine a couple times a week. He brings me granola bars from the cupboard and loves trash more than he likes his toys:

EMBER

We hadn’t planned on a third cat, but the universe insisted. I mean that quite literally. On 31 July 2022, my mother died at my sister’s place a couple of states away. The morning she died, me and my four siblings took a walk around my sister’s neighborhood. We split up and went slightly different ways; my sister and her husband called me as I was getting back to the house to say that a tiny, tiny crying kitten had run out of the bushes toward them. My sister didn’t know what to do; one of my nieces is very allergic, and we were all burnt-out from dealing with Mom’s passing and the funeral home taking away her body. I told her to bring the kitten back to the house, because I was too grief-stricken to let another thing die that day. Out on the porch, I fed her milk from one of the droppers we were using to give my mom morphine, all the while making desperate phone calls to local rescues. After about 3 hours, a local vet with specialty in caring for bottle baby kittens came to pick her up. She told me that, because I didn’t live too far away in the grand scheme of things, she could foster the baby until she was old enough for me to arrange transport to my home state. There was no way I could walk away from that little baby, so I got regular photos, videos, and updates from her foster mom until I could arrange transport about 5 months later (she came home in December of 2022). She has grown up to be the feistiest tortie I’ve ever met. She has far longer hair than I ever could have guessed, and even now that she’s 1.5 years old, she has very short legs (longer end of munchkin, our vet says!) and an overall smaller stature than her siblings. She fucking adores Nicky, and he has never once played too rough for her given the size disparity. He lets her chase him, jump on him, bap him into play fights, etc. She will cry and cry at night if we don’t pick her up and carry her around before we close the bedroom doors (they get to sleep in the bedroom sometimes, but not always; Nicky likes to knock picture frames off the wall in there, and I’m not about exposing them to broken glass).

[totallybakedcake]

Delusional stupid

I just thought this GIF was too cute and wanted to use it..

My exams are finally over, and I have so many ideas I need to post and write, but I feel so angry over the manga for not including Shinonome in almost anything. For people who are not caught up with the manga, Shinonome is a platoon leader in the first division. She is said to be the best fighter among all the platoon leaders and has a release force of 73 percent. She has a cool design, imo, and is shown here and there in some panels.

During this final arc of the manga, I suppose she is literally shown for a chapter where Kaiju No. 11 i think was bodying her fully, and it's shown that she has a crush on Narumi and just wanted to get stronger because of him, and then she is so badly injured and Kafka comes to save her, and from chapters 82 to 110, we have not seen her even in a glimpse.

I really, really like Shinonome and Narumi. Narumi is my favorite male in kn8, and Shinonome is my favorite female, but Narumi does not even know the A of romance, and that's fine because the manga and anime are supposed to be fighting action types, but seriously, are you kidding me?

I wish Rin got a numbers weapon. All 3, 5, and 7 Kaiju don't have a compatible user, and a YouTuber did say that one of them has a compatible user, so hopefully it's Rin.

BESIDES THAT

It's so random, yall can skip this 😭

It's actually dumb, but I kind of thought what would be the strongest unit Isao could've made if he were living for 4 or 3 more months. I think I wanted to make some changes, but it sounds like I have nothing to do with my life.

Shinonome will still be the strongest platoon leader. Kikoru (she is already in the division) with a number weapon 4 Reno/Leno with No. 6 suit Narumi ofc Kafka? He belongs in the third division, along with Ashiro and Hoshina. Iharu Then, idk about Haruchi and the millitary dude's ability; we haven't seen so much of them, and the people in the first division all have a release force of 40 percent or higher, so it's good? The only problem is that Rin is so weak compared to others. Damn.

I'm at a loss for why I even uploaded this. I need to write the eight fics asap, but no ideas come in, so I am skipping them for a while and doing bullshit.

Help, what did I post?

[shadowqueenjude]

He was an asshole for this, but Eris had long since stopped caring. He knew that he had to do some bad things now so that he could overthrow Beron and prevent far worse things from happening later. As for bad things he’d done? This didn’t even make the list.

It wasn’t hard to drug the shadowsinger and drag him away. Eris had already caught him once before, and he hadn’t changed his tactics since. Fool.

When the Inner Circle’s janitor woke up, he began to struggle. Predictable, but Azriel could do nothing against his restraints.

“You,” Azriel growled, trying to throw himself at Eris, chair and all.

“Me,” Eris replied calmly. He took a sip of his wine.

“What, you planning to kill me?” he snarled, rattling the chair with his struggles. Eris rolled his eyes.

“That would be counterproductive, wouldn’t it? Would rather ruin my alliance with your court.” He placed his glass down and steepled his fingers in front of him. “No on the contrary, I’ve taken a special interest in you, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s face was filled with a ferocity that promised a slow death to Eris. Eris merely tsked at the expression.

“Anger does not suit you, Azriel,” Eris purred. “You lose all your pretty boy features.”

“SHUT UP!” Azriel roared, shaking the chair again. “I fucking hate you.”

Eris sighed. “Funny that you turn your hatred towards me when it is your companions you ought to despise.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed on him. “What the fuck do you mean?”

Eris shrugged. “It’s not my fault I was engaged to marry Mor. I was a mere child then, powerless to do anything to stop it. I didn’t want it any more than Mor did, only I didn’t dare disobey my father while Mor disobeyed hers. She got punished for it. Got nails all over her body. But had I brought her over that Autumn court border to heal her…she would’ve suffered a fate worse than death. She would’ve become Beron’s servant. Like me. Forever.”

Azriel said nothing. He knew Eris was right, even though Eris was sure he was loathe to admit it. Eris continued, “But your best friend, that brutish general, slept with Mor while knowing what the costs may be, while knowing that you were in love with her.” He laughed lowly. “Some friend, huh?”

Azriel still said nothing, but Eris could sense the target of his anger shift. He was being convincing then.

“How much do they truly respect you? Forcing you to do their dirty work. Making you torture people because they’re too squeamish to do it themselves, even though Rhysand possesses daemati powers and needn’t resort to torture. Isn’t it triggering, considering the torture you went through in your youth?

At last, Azriel said something. “Yes,” he whispered.

“You are the outsider there,” Eris continued. “Both of them mated to Archerons, yet the third Archeron sister belongs to my brother. Don’t you feel rather left out? Like you’re not truly a part of their group? Who there really understands the anger you keep rooted deep inside?”

Pain and sorrow flickered across Azriel’s face, and Eris stood up, stalking over to him and leaning before him. “But I understand,” Eris murmured. “I understand, because it’s the same anger I shove deep down inside because I am under Beron’s thumb. We are the same, you and I. But if you come with me, if you help me overthrow Beron, you won’t be so powerless anymore. You won’t need to hide the anger inside. We’ll finally be free.”

Azriel swallowed. “What would you have me do?” he asked. Eris smirked, resting his hand on his face, rubbing his thumb against his lips. Azriel’s cheeks turned red at his touch. “Spy on your friends for me. I want to know how much they’ve been keeping from me. And then in a month…you quit and join me.”

Azriel raised a brow in challenge as he stared Eris down. “I still fucking hate you,” Azriel muttered.

Eris chuckled. “You’re a fool if you think I care, shadowsinger.”

But Eris knew Azriel was lying. Azriel didn’t hate Eris. Not really. Not like he hated himself.

Just like Eris.

For day 4 of @azrisweek free day

[sweetprfct]

Is It Over Now?

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Fake dating your flatmate, Joe, should be a simple thing. It meant you get to help get his ex back, and it meant you get to stop your parents' nagging about bringing someone home for once. But what happens when fake dating turns into something unexpected? Now, what?

Author's Note: Part 4! Bare with me I will be uploading my past short stories at the same time too! By the way, if you all want to be tagged in my fics, please let me know!

Disclaimer: 18+

Wordcount: 5.1K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

“So, when are you going to tell me that you’re dating your flatmate?” 

You choked on the waffle that you were shoving in your mouth as soon as Sara asked you that question. 

Now, wait a minute, how the hell did she know about that?!

You gazed up at her with wide eyes and mouth full like your deepest, darkest secret had just come to light. You swallowed the food that was in your mouth and chugged on your water. It wasn’t like thinking about kissing Joe for the last few weeks wasn’t bad enough. Now, Sara knew about this? 

Abby shook her head, chuckling. “Way to ease into the subject, babe.” 

“I thought you don’t have social media? How do you know about that?” You asked, brows all furrowed. 

“Abby has Instagram, and we saw the candid pictures.” 

God, this was embarrassing. 

A month and a half.

You were doing well keeping this embarrassing secret for a month and a half. You weren’t planning to tell Sara about this until you were ready but of course, the internet had to tell her first. You should have seen it coming. You were fake dating an actor after all, so why were you so surprised about it at the same time? It wasn’t like you didn’t see other people at the corner of the pubs that you two would go to and take pictures of you. Sara and Abby were bound to find out about it. 

It wasn’t like you enjoyed it. There were so many moments that you wanted to tell Abby and Sara every time you had brunch with them for the past month and a half, but it was too embarrassing and stupid. Not that they would judge you for doing this ridiculous agreement. It was you who was embarrassed. It was you who felt like an idiot every weekend.

“C’mon…” You would take Joe’s hand and drag him in the dark corner of the pub. “Is she looking?”

Joe would look over his shoulder, discreet enough where Ivy wouldn’t notice and look back at you, nodding his head. You would take his hand and slowly slide it on your bum before sliding it on your hips. Joe would grip your hips and pull you close and kiss you. Kiss you like he hasn’t kissed anyone like it before, and it would make your stomach turn in a good way. You would kiss him not like the way Ivy would, and he would give you that look. 

It had been weeks that you noticed that Joe would always give you that look after you kissed him. It was like Joe’s body freezes when you kiss him, and he gave you those doe eyed eyes of his. It bothered you to the core because not only you haven’t seen that look from any man you hooked up or dated before, but it made you feel good. It sent electricity down your body, and you hated it. You hated the fact that it made you feel like that. However, that wasn't going to force you to give in, so you continued to act like his kisses meant nothing every weekend. 

Which it didn’t because this was all pretend, right?

Then, there was that one weekend where you both went bar hopping around the city because apparently, Ivy was doing the same thing with her friends. After following her on the third bar of the night, you sort of noticed how Joe looked defeated. Ivy didn’t acknowledge him at all. He looked like he was just done. 

“So, where are we going next?” You asked him.

Joe’s eyes were laser focused on Ivy, and he didn’t even hear your question. You, on the other hand, were getting bored and tired from walking from bar to bar. You settled on your seat by the bar, and you ordered yourself a drink.

“I’ll be back.” Joe murmured and walked away from you before you could even say anything. 

You looked over your shoulder and watched Joe talk to Ivy, and they made their way out of the pub. You sat there all night, while Joe spent his time with her. Then, he did the same thing again a weekend after that. You didn’t say anything nor questioned him because even if you didn’t see him for most of the night, you knew what he was doing. Ivy’s friends would side eye and chuckle at you as if you were the most idiotic woman in the room. As if you didn’t know that your “boyfriend” was outside by the dark alley sticking his tongue down Ivy’s throat. 

Well, fuck them because they didn’t know shit. 

You sat there and ignored them and minded your own business because this was all an act, right? They didn’t know that you weren’t actually with Joe and that you weren’t actually an idiot. 

Well, maybe being an idiot was starting to be questionable.

They didn’t know the whole truth. You knew what was happening outside in that dark alley, and you just had to play your part, so all of this could be over soon. 

But how come it still made you feel like shit?

At the end of the night, Joe would come back inside with Ivy and would ask you if you wanted to go home. You would just nod your head, give him a smile as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close. Every time you would pass by Ivy, she would give you a look as if she knew something that you didn’t. As if she won. Unfortunately for her, you knew everything. 

That went on for another weekend, however, Joe had stopped a weekend after that. Ivy had also stopped giving him attention again. You didn’t exactly know what happened between them but as another two weekends went by, you sort of noticed how Joe stopped paying attention to her. She would be there, but he never looked at her anymore. It was starting to feel strange because what was the point of it all if Joe didn’t even try anymore? 

Then, last weekend came…

It became even more strange. 

“What do you think?” Joe asked you that morning, holding up an expensive long silver silk dress. 

You were comfortably laying on the sofa, watching TV in peace when Joe blocked your view and held that dress in front of you. 

“That doesn’t look like Ivy’s style.”

“Good because it’s not for her.” Joe handed it to you. “It’s for you.”

“Oh.”

Joe smiled, handing you the dress and the silver strappy heels that came with it. You got up from your position and stared at the dress for a moment and saw the tag that said “Dior” on it. 

“So, what is this for?” You asked. 

“I have to go to a Dior event, and Ivy is part of the event too.” Joe explained.

That all made sense now. 

You nodded your head and thanked Joe for the dress. It was the first one he bought for you after a month and a half of fake dating him. It was part of your agreement, but you sort of were still questioning the recent events lately. Why would he want—needed— you to come if he didn’t even make an effort with Ivy anymore? Was all of this over between them or were they just playing a game? 

And that goddamn look.

He needed to stop that! 

It was like every time he saw you, those chocolate button eyes would stare and not in a lustful way either. It was a different look that you couldn’t really explain. You had your hair done by a professional that night, making your long wavy brown hair fall nicely on your back, a nice silver pin on the side, giving you a slick fresh look. The silver silk dress hugged your curves nicely, and Joe stood there and stared at you the moment you walked into the event with him. The lights that flickered around the room made you sparkle even more, and it made Joe’s eyes sparkled towards you too. 

However, your eyes were somewhere else. You were there for the agreement, not something else. You found Ivy across the room and immediately slid your fingers to intertwine with Joe’s. To your surprise, Joe slid his hand away and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him and led you towards the bar to get some drinks.

For a while, you just stood there by the bar, drinking and scanning the room. Ivy was busy talking to different people, and Joe was doing the same thing. You were starting to feel a bit bored and lonely again. You didn’t know anyone in the room, and you sort of felt like you didn’t belong there. They were all in the same working industry, and you were just there. 

“Sorry.” Joe apologized, coming back to you half an hour later. “Do you mind if I introduce you to some people?”

You shrugged, not really knowing the answer to his question. Was this part of the plan too? Was he really introducing you to all his industry friends as his “girlfriend?” Was this going to make Ivy jealous? You didn’t bother saying anything as he led you towards the middle of the room. 

Throughout the night, Joe would take you around with him, introduce you to other people that were part of the event, introduce you to his industry friends and never left your side all night. Not once had he laid an eye on Ivy all night and suddenly, you didn’t know what your role was supposed to be anymore. 

“You look beautiful tonight.” Joe whispered to you as soon as his friends left to get some drinks. 

“Joe, you don’t have to pretend. Ivy isn’t even around us right now.” You murmured. 

“I’m not pretending.”

You stared at him, blinking your eyes and feeling the blood rushed to your cheeks. You never had anyone genuinely tell you that, and it felt strange for Joe to say that to you since he was supposed to be focusing on someone else. You didn’t know what to say, and he was giving you that look again. 

What the fuck was he doing? 

Joe gave you a small warm smile before his friends interrupted the both of you again. The rest of the night was spent talking with his friends and professional photographers taking pictures of the two of you. Joe would introduce you to everyone as his “girlfriend” and somehow, you didn’t know whether to feel good about it or feel uncomfortable because throughout the night, there were times where you would forget that you were actually acting. Everything was starting to surface naturally. 

 Did Joe forget too? 

Ivy left hours ago, and he still continued to pretend you were his girlfriend. You couldn’t argue because maybe it was part of it all, and you had one role and that was to just go with it and keep acting too. 

You couldn’t lie to yourself because you did have fun that night, and you actually met some new people at the party that had great conversations with you. You couldn’t deny that. 

But at the end of the night, you were ready to get your feet out of your heels because it was killing you slowly. By the time the two of you arrived back in your flat, you immediately sat on the sofa, unclasping the strap of the heels from your ankle and let out a sigh of relief. Your feet were all red, and you swore the skin at the back of your foot was peeling off. 

Joe chuckled softly, grabbing the heels from you and knelt down in front of you. For a moment, you just stared at him, trying to figure out what he was doing, then Joe wrapped his big hand around your ankle, setting your foot on his lap and started massaging it. 

“Joe.” You slid your foot away. “It’s dirty. No…”

Joe didn’t let you off this time. He set your foot back on his lap and said, “It’s fine. I’m the one who put you in those shoes, so let me do this. I at least owe you this.” 

You were about to pull your foot away again, but Joe’s soft hands had started working, and you couldn’t help but enjoy it. It made you feel so relaxed. It made your feet feel so much better. How did he learn how to be such a good masseuse? Because ohmygod, it felt really good. 

But then, you reminded yourself that this was crossing boundaries. Sure, you enjoyed tonight and Joe’s attention towards you but the act was over. You were back in your flat, and you didn’t have to pretend anymore. The thought of Joe touching and being sweet to you started making you cringe again. 

You cleared your throat and pulled your foot away, getting up from the sofa. 

“Thanks for tonight.” You said. “But I’m exhausted, so goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Joe nodded his head, disappointment lingering in his eyes. 

That was it. 

That was how the night ended, and you were fine with it. That night, you both had crossed boundaries way too many times, and you kept wondering as to why Joe was fine with it because he was the one who wanted to get Ivy back, remember? So where was she now? Why was she not falling for this? Why was Joe okay with all of this all of a sudden? Why was he not complaining like before? 

“He’s falling for you.” Abby chuckled softly, snapping you back to reality. 

Your eyes widened at your friends, “What?! No.” 

No way!

No way Joe felt that way… right?

“Oh, yes he is. Tell her, babe.” Abby nudged Sara softly on her arm.

“Sara?” 

You snapped your head at Sara, raising your brows and looking at her with wide eyes. Sara opened her mouth but no words slipped out. You could see it all over her face that she was trying to find the right words to answer you. When she finally did, it wasn’t an answer to your question.

“Are you sure you want to keep this up?” She asked.

“What do you mean?” You knitted your brows. “I sort of have to because he’s coming with me to my mum’s birthday dinner tonight.”

You watched as Abby and Sara exchanged hesitant looks, and your mind started questioning if it really was worth continuing this because your gut feeling was starting to tell you it was starting to be something else. 

“We just don’t want you getting hurt.” Abby added. 

“I won’t.” You said that with too much confidence. “This is all just an act, remember? It’s not real.”

You watched as Sara took a sip of her tea and didn’t say anything for a whole minute, but you knew that look she was giving you. You have known Sara long enough that it was the “are you sure this was a good idea?” look. Like she knew this wasn’t going to end well if you kept this up. 

“Just… Just think about it.” Sara’s worried hazel eyes stared at you. 

Your little conversation with Sara and Abby got you overthinking again as you walked back to your flat. You had to continue this act tonight and this time, it would be at your parents’ house. It was the first time they would be meeting Joe, and you were dreading it because you knew how they both act around other people. They had no shame to fight nor say something brutal. 

“Are you alright?” Joe asked you as you both walked out of the flat that night. 

“Yeah,” You paused and turned to Joe as he opened the passenger door for you. “Listen, I just want to apologize in advance whatever my mum and dad will say to you. They tend to be brutal and have no filter.”

“Hey,” Joe set a hand on your arm to comfort you, but it made you wince from his touch. 

Even if Joe had touched you or kissed you many times, you still tend to be taken aback whenever the two of you weren’t pretending in front of everyone. You were still you. You still weren't affectionate nor liked it when someone touched you.

“Sorry.” Joe slid his hand away. 

He was also starting to get used to that part of you. 

“But don’t worry, okay?” Joe gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m going to make sure that your mum will stop annoying you about this.”

“Thanks.” You gave him a small smile before sliding yourself inside the car. 

On the way to your parents’ house, the car filled with comfortable silence but inside your mind, you were dreading to visit your parents. You promised yourself you wouldn’t come back until the big holidays, but your mum insisted on you coming back home for her birthday. You technically haven’t told them that you have a “boyfriend.” All you said on the phone was that you were bringing someone, so she wouldn’t be too surprised and scold you for not giving her a heads up that she needed to prepare an extra plate. 

You could literally feel your shoulders getting tensed again as Joe pulled up to the driveway. It started to drizzle the moment you stepped out of Joe’s car as you played with your fingers nervously. You and Joe walked up to the front door, and your mum must have heard the car pull up because she immediately swung the door open before you could even knock.

“Oh!” A big smile plastered on her face, her eyes only at Joe. “You didn’t tell me your guest was so handsome.”

“Mum, this is Joe.” You introduced them together, a frown slowly creeping up on your face.

“Happy Birthday.” Joe greeted her, handing her a gift bag. 

Where did that gift bag came from?

You were too occupied inside your mind that you didn’t even realize Joe had been holding it this whole time. You furrowed your brows at him, not expecting him to bring a gift to your mum but at the same time, you sort of felt touched. You couldn’t help but think about how Joe actually took time to pick out something for your mum. Someone he never even met before. He didn’t even have to do all of this since you both were just pretending, but he did. You saw how Joe was a gentleman towards her, and you could already tell your mum loved him. 

If only she knew the truth. 

It didn’t take long for the rest of the herd to arrive behind your mum as you introduced your dad and brother to Joe. Entering your house, your dad and brother immediately dragged Joe in the living room as your mum asked you to help her out in the kitchen. 

“Happy Birthday, mum.” You gave her a kiss on the cheek and handed her your gift.

“Thanks, darling.” She smiled. “You didn’t have to get me anything. I told you to save your money.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just something small.” You shrugged.

You watched as your mum’s eyes shifted towards Joe in the living room and then back at you. “Is that… Joe? Your flatmate?”

You nodded your head, ready for her to start listing all the things that were wrong about dating your flatmate even if she had suggested it to you in the first place. 

“I’m glad you finally listened.” She looked down at the salad she was making, pouring the dressing on it. “It seems like he’s handsome and has a good career.”

“He’s an actor.” You answered.

“Oh?” Your mum looked up to you, her brow raised and her eyes widened. “Anything I have seen him in?”

You shrugged. “Probably not.” 

The both of you were interrupted by the laughter that erupted from the living room. You saw how the three men enjoyed their conversation together as they watched sports on the television. You noticed how Joe was trying his best to impress your dad and brother. You wonder if all of this was still an act because the more you watched them, the more you could see the real Joe surfacing in all of their conversations. It was the Joe you knew before this whole thing happened. The Joe you would spend Saturday nights with, watching movies and eating pizza.

When the five of you sat down for dinner later that night, you quietly sat and ate your food as they all talked about sports, and your brother asking Joe about interesting things that happens on set whenever he films. Every single question that your family asked him, they seemed to be impressed by every answer that Joe would give. 

Maybe Joe was right.

He really was going to put on a hell of a show for them. 

Although, as minutes passed, you started to feel guilty for lying in front of your family. Were you that desperate for them to feel proud of you that you had this whole thing set up? That you actually brought a fake boyfriend for them to meet, so they could leave you alone for once? It made you feel sick to your stomach, and you just wanted the dinner to be over. You just wanted the whole night to be over. 

“You know you are the first man that she brought home.” Your mum mentioned to Joe, making you glare at her.

“Mum.” You uttered. 

“I’ve always told her to stop being so stiff and go out there and find someone.” Your mum continued. “All she cares about is her career.”

Joe watched as you slowly slid down your seat. A small smile tugged on his face as he set a hand over yours under the table. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Joe replied. “I think it’s amazing that she could go out there every day and be in front of hazardous chemicals for experiments, so that the world could have a cure for certain diseases.”

Your eyes slowly shifted at Joe as he continued to compliment you, his hand squeezing yours gently. This time, you didn’t cringe nor wince over his touch. He was genuine at every word that he was saying. Every compliment he would say, it made your brother smile at you, and it made your mum finally shut her mouth. 

“I think she could do both, especially since she’s almost 30.” Your mum finally found another excuse after a few minutes. 

You bit your lower lip and ate your salad and didn’t bother talking for the rest of the night. Joe could see how tense you were and even holding your hand, he could feel your freezing cold hands shaking. As your dad and brother continued to make conversations with Joe in the living room after dinner, you made your way upstairs to your room to get some peace and quiet for a moment. 

Looking out the window, the rain started pouring hard outside as you watched the raindrops slide down the glass window. You looked around your room and thought about all the memories you had in here as a child and a teenager. Most of them were bad and some were good too. Your fingers brushed the wooden white vanity that sat in the corner of your room. Picture frames of your childhood friends that you haven’t seen in a long time since they were all out of the country now. Then, your eyes caught on the snowglobe that was sitting on top of your bookshelf. You stood on your tiptoes, grabbing it from the top shelf and smiled as you stared at it, wiping off the dust that collected over it. 

You remembered you would hide in your bedroom most of the time to avoid hearing the argument that your parents would have downstairs. You would put on your headphones, lay on your bed and stare at the ceiling. It almost became like a safe place for you to hide out from everyone in the world. You let out a sigh as you sat at the edge of your bed and looked out the window and thought about how your life would be if you weren’t so terrified at everything. If you weren’t so anxious about coming home all the time. You wondered how your childhood and teenage years would have been if your parents didn’t fight all the time.

“Knock. Knock.”

Your thoughts were interrupted as Joe stood by the doorway, knocking on the open door. 

“May I come in?” He asked.

This wasn’t your own personal space anymore. This was your personal space when you were a teenager, but she was a totally different person from who you were now. This was just a room full of memories and untouched things that were collecting dust over the years. 

“Sure.” You murmured. 

Joe sat next to you and looked down at the snowglobe that you were holding.

“Something special?” He asked, nodding his head in the direction of the snowglobe.

“Yeah,” You smiled slightly. “It was my favorite.”

You held up the snowglobe with a small blue penguin standing outside a cabin and when you shook it, snow filled the globe, and it sparkled. 

“I always thought how lucky the penguin was because it looked so peaceful in there.” You added. 

“Yeah,” Joe shrugged. “But it could be lonely too.”

Joe watched you shake the snowglobe again and part of him knew that you were comparing yourself with the penguin. How you wished you had a peaceful home life. He saw how much your mum judged you tonight and that was just during dinner. He couldn't imagine having to deal with that your whole life.

Your sudden winces from his touch, and your rules for boundaries made all sense in his head now. Everything about this house made you who you were today, and he wished he could help you heal from it, but Joe knew that you liked your distance. You liked keeping an arm’s length when it came to certain people in your life.

He couldn’t blame you. He has seen all the reasons why tonight. 

“I swear to God! You cannot do anything right around here!” Your mum yelled from downstairs. “What a great fucking birthday, innit?!”

You and Joe immediately shifted your attention towards the doorway. Your mum’s voice echoed from down the hall as your dad’s deep voice rattled the whole house.

“You know what, if you could handle it yourself, then fine! Don’t ask me for help next time!”

“That’s actually fucking great! You’re fucking useless most of the time anyway!” Your mum barked.

You couldn’t believe that they were actually fighting right now as if they didn’t have a guest inside their own home. They literally have no shame or respect at all. You got up from your bed and quickly closed the door, hanging your head low from embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry–”

You gasped softly the moment you turned around and saw Joe standing in front of you. You didn’t even finish your sentence as he looked at you with apologetic eyes and immediately pulled you in his arms. You didn’t know what to do. You stood there frozen as Joe held you and comforted you. Your body was tense due to all the anxiety that was washing over you right now. 

You never had anyone do something like this to you before. Not even your parents. If you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that you felt so embarrassed, anxious, and stressed about your parents, you would have pushed Joe away from you. 

No one got to hold you like this. 

No one should hold you like this. 

This was not right, especially that it was Joe. But somehow, his arms slowly made your body relax, and your arms gently wrapped around his torso as you buried your face in his chest.

“It’s okay.” Joe cooed, his voice all soft. “Just let it out.” 

You kept telling yourself that you were being over dramatic as tears silently rolled down your cheeks. Both of you were silent. The only thing that you could hear was the pitter patter of the rain on the glass window as you quietly cried on his chest. Joe softly rubbed your back until you had let out every single frustration and anger. He was patient. He waited until you were okay and was ready to let go from his embrace. 

Joe planted a soft kiss in your hair and that made you sob even more. 

God, you were so pathetic.

You couldn’t even hold yourself together in front of him. The moment you finally let go of his arms, Joe looked down at you, dipping in his chin to find your eyes that were now bloodshot red. Your lips were trembling as you sniffled and used the end of your jumper sleeve to wipe your nose.

“Hey, it’s okay.” His soft voice murmured, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”

“No,” Joe shook his head, cupping your face with his hands. “Don’t you dare apologize for letting out your emotions.”

You nodded your head and let out a deep breath, giving him a small thank you smile. After a few minutes of gatheringg yourself together, the both of you decided to start making your way back to London. You needed to get away from there. 

You had enough of everyone. 

“Hey,” Joe gently held your hand that night when you both arrived in your flat.

He stopped you halfway towards your bedroom and immediately slid his hand away from yours, knowing exactly how much you hated it when someone touched you.

But tonight was an exception, right? 

You didn’t think you actually needed someone to hold you like that until Joe did without you asking for it. It still surprised you, but it made you feel safe and understood.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Joe asked.

You nodded your head, a small reassuring smile tugging on your lips. “I’m fine. Thank you for tonight. It seems like our plan worked.”

Joe didn’t care about the plan though. He only cared about you. 

He only cared if you were okay. 

“Of course.” Joe smiled. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

And just like that, Joe watched you walk inside your room and closed the door behind you. The same way how most of his nights end lately. His mind wondered if tonight something has shifted between the two of you. 

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @bylermaxmayfield @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name 

[the1975attheirverybest]

Promises To Keep

A/N: Day 4 of valentines week!

Warnings: none

***

“I- umm,” Jo’s voice quivered. “I’m p-pregnant?”

Matty looked down at the 4 pregnancy tests, all clearly indicating, either in “+” or lines, or big bold letters “PREGNANT.” He grabbed one of the opened boxed, scanning over the fine print. “Mhm. Y-you’re definitely pregnant. It would seem.”

He looked up at her from the bathroom floor, as she sat, wide-eyed on the side of the bathtub, staring down at the mess of tests at her feet. Matty was, of course, overjoyed. This was the best news of his entire life. He’s always wanted to be a father. And the fact that it had happened without them planning it or trying? He’s not one for religion but he was certain that’s what he would call a blessing, if ever such a thing existed. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops. until he could determine Jo’s feelings on the matter, though, he was trying to remain calm. And it was killing him. He wanted to hoist her into his arms and hold her tight. He wanted to kiss her from head to toes. He wants to cry. But he had to stay focused and supportive.

“I- am gonna be a mom? Like- a mother?”

“Mhm.”

“L-life is…g-growing? Inside me? I- have a womb and shit?”

Matty frowned. “Pretty sure you’ve always had a womb- that’s not the point,okay.” He corrected himself. “Well, erm….life doesn’t begin at conception, Jo.”

Her eyes met his for the first time since the tests turned positive. “Right.” She mumbled. “It’s not a baby. It’s just cells.”

Matty’s heart sank. But he couldn’t argue with facts. “Just cells.” He echoed.

Jo’s hand absently moved to rest on her nonexistent bump. Matty’s hand itched to rest atop hers, but he held back. He watched her look into the distance as she pictured her future. 9 months from today. A child changes everything. Her life. Her body. Her career. Not to mention, her relationship. She was under no illusions when it came to parenthood. She’d watched enough of her friends go through the process to know about the sleepless nights, and the breastfeeding problems and the ever-present smell of poopy diapers in the house no matter how much cleaning one does. She was young. Her career had just taken off. She has just started to get a sense of who he is as an adult….and yet….

The notion of having a baby, one that is half her and half Matty, felt bigger, better, more right than anything else that she had planned or foreseen for herself in the future. The idea that the two of them could love each other so much to the point of making a whole third person out of this love was the perfect next step for their relationship.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes; a smile danced on her lips. “Well, we’ve both always said we want to be parents…”

Matty’s eyes lit up at her words. “Yes! We have!” He said, half standing up.

“I mean- nobody’s getting any younger- I make good money-“

“I’m rich, Jo. In case you haven’t-“

“And I work in design I can do that from anywhere-“

“I don’t have to work at all!” Matty yelled out, as if announcing the fact to a room full of people.

“You, do, in fact, have to work. You leave for tour tonight.”

Matty got up to sit beside her on the edge of the bathtub. “Right. If this child decides to ignore school and start a band….they’re going to live in our house for a long time. We’ll need a bigger house.”

Jo giggled at the image that his words had painted.

“Speaking of house….i can’t go tonight. You’re pregnant.”

“Don’t be stupid! You can go. You have to go.”

“And leave my pregnant- not wife.” He chuckled. “Funny, I- always thought: rock band, husband, then kids. Guess not everything happens in the order you want it to happen.”

Jo nodded. “Yeah,” she sighed. “I…always thought I’d feel like an adult by the time that I got pregnant. You know, sort of in the way that moms do?”

“Mhm.”

“Moms always….know everything. Like what to wear to things and what to do if a scab won’t heal, and how to make the perfect roast potatoes.”

“Roast potatoes?” Matty frowned. “You make a good roast, Jo-“

“Yeah but I can never get them quite right. You know, crispy and golden on the outside but tender and fluffy on the inside?”

He nodded along, recognizing what she meant, “sure. Yeah.”

“Our child is gonna grow up eating subpar potatoes, Matty.”

Matty held his head in his hands, letting her words fly by. Their child was going to be subjected to a lifetime of imperfect potatoes. A lifetime. With a child. They’re having a child. He’s gonna be a dad! He’s having Jo’s baby!

“Hey, Jo?” He called out, his voice echoing through the porcelain tub.

“Yes, Matty?”

He picked his head up and looked at her, flashing her a huge, shimmering grin. “We’re having a baby!”

The joy that lit up his eyes was impossible to ignore. Jo’s smile softened. “We’re having a baby….”

***

“I don’t know….should we?”

Jo overheard Matty ask as he paced his home studio with the door only halfway closed.

“I reckon we could postpone at least….”

She peered in. He was on FaceTime with George.

“Maybe we discuss this with….everyone, including Jamie, in the room. That way we’ll have a better idea.” George suggested. “Do they all know already?”

“Ross does. Hann didn’t answer so I left him a vague and cryptic message.” Matty paused the back and forth, finally settling in his desk chair. “Fuck! I’ve got to call mom! And dad!”

Those words were Jo’s last straw. She rushed into the room, snatching the phone out of his hand. “You will do no such thing!” She looked down at George through the screen. “Hey, George.”

“Hey, mate. Congrats on the baby!”

She was surprised by the new rush of excitement that hearing his congratulations had brought her. It was the first outside acknowledge of her motherhood. “Thank you!” She squealed, then, glancing at Matty, recalled the reason she’d barreled in here. “We’re not telling your parents. I can’t fuckin believe you’ve told the boys already!” She sighed. “Sorry, George.”

“No worries. I kinda can’t believe it either, if I’m honest.”

Matty frowned, leaning forward “why not?!”

“You’re meant to wait! Until after the first trimester!”

“Yeah, I know that, but why?”

Jo had began to speak, but George unknowingly cut her off

“Well- it’s usually when the risk of miscarriage is lower stuff…” he said matter-of-factly, recovering a weird look from Matty through the camera. “What? We went over this with Adam and Carly. Don’t you remember? You never pay attention to anything….”

Jo smiled, sitting in Matty’s lap so that they’re both in the FaceTime camera frame. “Sorry to interrupt your call but I think Matty and I need to have a little chat before….whatever this is goes any further.”

George nodded. “Understood. Hey, Matty, listen….in terms of the band stuff…whatever you decide to do is fine, honestly. Just let us know what you need. If you don’t wanna tour, we’ll sort it out.” Matty nodded, and waved goodbye, a silent cue that he was hanging up.

“What’s this I hear about you not wanting to tour?” Joe spoke as soon as she was certain that Matty had put his phone away.

“Jo, you’re pregnant!”

“I’m aware.”

Matty rolled his eyes. “I can’t just- get on a plane and fuck off to another country. New city every other day. No idea when I’ll be home again.”

He watched her face scrunch into a puzzled expression.

“Why not?”

His jaw dropped, shaking his head in disbelief. “Im not gonna miss all the doctors appointments and the- morning sickness and the- everything!

Jo was touched by his determination, not that she ever doubted that he would be anything less than all in. Still; seeing it written all over his face was overwhelming. “Matty-“

“No! He stomped his foot as he spoke. “I’m going to be a dad, now. I’ve got to- to rearrange my priorities. I’m not going to just leave you. No way. Alright?”

“Honey, don’t you think it’s a bit too early to be make decisions like this?” Her eyes looked into his, so Matty didn’t notice when she reached for his hand, he flinched, initially, relaxing to her touch slowly.

He took a deep breath, attempting to slow down his racing heart. “I- I would just- like to know what my options are. If…canceling tour is possible, or if, pushing it back a few weeks might be an alternative. I think….the sooner that I have all the information, the better for baby.”

“For- b-baby?” Jo’s lips involuntarily curled into a smile as she repeated his words.

“Mhm. Baby. As in….our child. Sophia if it’s a girl. Aiden if it’s a boy.”

Jo chuckled, heartily. “Sophia? Aiden? What the fuck, Matty?! We’ve only known about… ‘baby’ for like a few hours. You’ve already named it?”

“Jo, I’ve been naming our children since our first date.”

She rolled her eyes. “That kind of talk doesn’t work on me. I know all of your tricks.”

“And I still knocked you up! Ha! I win!”

Jo ran her hand through his hair. “Seriously, though, Matty. We are not naming our child ‘Aiden.’”

He looked at her with big sad eyes, “No Aiden? You don’t like it?”

“I hate it.”

Matty ducked his head, pressing his forehead to hers. “Fine. His name isn’t Aiden. No weird, artsy French names, though, okay?”

“Really?” She pouted, “but I’ve always dreamed of naming my baby boy Jacques.”

“No, you haven’t” Matty saw through her lie instantly.

She laughed, silently, her body shaking with his arms wrapped around her.

“See, Jo? I know all of your tricks, too.”

***

Jo’s arm felt around in the dark attempting to wrap her arms around her sleeping boyfriend. Instead, she was met with the cold bedding where Matty normally slept.

Half asleep, she turned the bedside light on and saw that matty wasn’t in bed.

Instead, she found him downstairs, in the middle of the hallway, standing on top of a ladder, with a screwdriver in his hand.

“Jesus fuckin Christ, Matty, it’s 2 in the morning!” Her eyes squinted, adjusting to the light.

“Oh” he spared her a quick glance, “hey, Jo.”

“‘Hey, Jo’ ? Really? Matty what on earth are you doing up there!”

“Smoke detectors.” He mumbled “first step of baby-proofing is smoke and carbon monoxide detectors.”

Jo exhaled, it was too late into the night for this conversation and she was tired. “And you’re…doing what exactly?”

“Checking to see if we have that.”

“Matty, this house is worth millions of dollars, I’m sure it’s got the right kind of smoke detectors.”

Matty shrugged, screwing the tip of the screwdriver into the nail. “I don’t know that for certain. I never thought about a child living here when I signed the stuff that got installed in here. I’m sure I thought ‘I’m never in here long enough to be poisoned by carbon monoxide anyway.’ So….”

“My love? Listen-“

“Think I’m gonna have to cancel tour.” He announced. “Postponing my flight isn’t enough. There’s no way I’m going to be finished baby-proofing before rehearasals week is over.”

Jo grabbed a hold of Matty’s leg, tugging on his joggers. “Matty- that’s it - that’s enough. Get down here. You’ve gone over to the crazy side. I need you to step down from there and come talk to me. Please.”

***

Jo brought over two mugs of chamomile tea, handling one to Matty before taking a seat next to him. “Drink it. It’ll help.”

“Thanks, darlin.” He kissed her.

She watched him blow on his drink for a moment, and take his first sip. “Matty, what’s going on with you? Why aren’t we both in bed right now?”

He looked down at his reflection in the tea, avoiding her eyes. “Just couldn’t sleep. So I figured I’d get started on some things. It’s a big deal, Jo.”

“Matty, you don’t have to do it all overnight, you get that, right? The baby isn’t even a baby right now. It’s a tiny cluster of cells! It takes 9 months for it to grow.”

“And I’d be gone for 9 months!” Matty raised his voice for the first time since Jo has met him. “Tour is 18 months at a time. So that’s enough time for a while fuckin human being to be made, and to almost turn a year old! If I can’t leave you knowing that you’re safe and prepared, then im not fuckin leaving! It’s not that hard to understand.”

She set her beverage down, placing her hands on his shoulders instead.

“You know I called some accountants today?”

“Oh?”

“To see about….a will.”

“Jesus fuckin- that’s morbid, Matty!”

“What? I’m just….being practical. If anything should happen to me. I- I want my kid — and you— to be all sorted….anyway, they- they said things would be a lot easier if we had a marriage certificate or whatever.”

Jo withdrew her hands, frowning. “I swear to god, Matthew, if this is your way or fuckin proposing-“

Matty giggled. “No, no! Cmon! I’m insane but I’m not THAT insane. I wouldn’t just…do it like that. I’m just saying….i do wish that our child could’ve been born into a marriage. You know?”

“Why does it matter?”

“It- doesn’t. Not really. Just- would feel more certain.”

She smiled, finally understanding. “I forget that you’re actually a tightly wound ball of anxiety sometimes.”

Matty chuckled.

“Very well, then. Let’s do it.”

“Do what?” He turned around to look at her.

“Get married. Right now. Let’s do it.”

“Right now? Jo- it’s the middle of the night, darling.”

“I know.” She rolled her eyes. “But we can still do it. Between us! The paperwork and the marriage liscence and all that is just legal bureaucracy. You’re rich. Your parents are rich. Baby will be fine with that stuff. So, that stuff aside….what is marriage if not a set of promises that we promise to keep together?”

Matty’s lips parted, but he had nothing to say. He remained speechless, eyes glued to her face.

“So, let’s make each other promises right now. You and me….and the baby. Let’s get married.”

“R-really?”

Jo giggled. “Yeah, if…if saying a promise will make it feel more certain, more forever….if it’ll get you to shut up and go to bed, then why not?”

Matty smiled, wide. “Okay, let’s fuckin do it! Baby and wedding in one day. I’m really doing it all, huh?”

***

She held his hands in hers, their fingers intertwined. “Who’s gonna go first?” She asked.

“Oh! I’ve got one!” Matty said, “I- promise….to learn how to check smoke detectors cuz….if I’m being honest I…had no idea what I was doing up there. I was just gonna crack it open and see if there was a YouTube tutorial that would explain it to me.”

Jo laughed, dramatically. Her head landing in Matty’ lap for a moment.

“Okay….umm…I promise to love you, even when you’re doing insane shit like looking up tutorials of essential safety measures at 3 in the morning.”

Matty brought her hand to his lips, kissing it. “I promise to talk to you first. Before I go off cracking open smoke detectors. I know- I know I tend to- go a bit insane without really saying anything. But we can’t have that. I’ll- be better about it. Promise.”

“I promise to give you grace and be more patient when you inevitably lose it again and start acting like a lunatic. I know you do it out of love. And it’s cute. So, I should just…go easier on you”

“It’s cute, you say?” Matty wriggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, stop that. You’ve already got me pregnant. You know I think you’re cute.”

Matty was surprised to feel himself blush. He laughed, softly, his head thrown back. Then, he straightened his back, looking serious all of the sudden. “I promise to teach our child how to love you right by setting an example for them every single day.”

“I promise to love you second most. Right after our child, of course.”

“I….find that a fair arrangement. May I kiss the bride now?”

Jo beamed at him. “Fuck yeah, you may.”

“I love you, Josephine.”

“I love you, too, Matthew.”

[jklovesfandoms]

Do you have any miscellaneous lautskity headcanons?

Oh boy, do I!!

1: Steph wears rings. Like a lot of them. She claims that she wears them because she likes them (she does) but it's really because Pete and Grace like to fidget with them while they hold hands.

That also means that she loves being in the center of the cuddle pile.

Pete and Grace have their personal favorite rings of Steph's, and once Steph figures it out, she adjusts what rings she wears on what hands to secretly influence which partner is on which side. She keeps on waiting for them to figure it out, they never do.

2: Grace, shockingly, sleeps like a starfish. Like, fully spread out. Unless she's cuddling one of her partners, but the second her body senses that there is no one else in the bed, she completely stretches out.

Steph sleeps on her side, with her hands tucked up to her face, usually holding a blanket. But with her partners, she'll sleep on her back, because she has mild anxiety if she cannot feel both of them.

Pete sleeps in the fetal position, like the most curled up man known to mankind. You cannot change my mind about this, because I am correct. He also sleeps with a weighted blanket, when not with at least one of his partners.

3: Grace plays ukulele (she's a church camp kid, as an ex-church camp kid that's a good third of what we did), so anytime that Steph or Pete show her a song, and are like "us, fr fr <3" she learns how to play it, just to surprise them.

Pete doesn't do songs very often, nor playlists. He instead does the nerdiest memes ever. He convinced them once to make their discord statuses be protons (Steph), neutrons (Grace), and electrons (Pete). He's a nerd, watcha gonna do.

Steph is the playlist maker, even if they aren't dating yet. So when she shows her partners her Spotify playlists, they immediately spot three playlists. "pining 4 her" "pining 4 him" and "oh fuck im so gay". Pete made "oh fuck im so gay" her contact name for the next 3 months, and they still mention it at least twice a week (just to see Steph's face go red).

4: Grace and Pete blush SO easily. And Steph takes great advantage of this (their contact photos are of them blushing and trying to hide from the camera).

That's why they mention the playlist name, because it's like the one guaranteed way to get Steph to go bright red in a split second.

5: None of them are good at taking compliments. Grace absolutely takes them with the most ease, but Pete and Steph just kinda go deer in headlights mode, before blurting out a mildly awkward "thanks?"

6: Steph is the "Hey! He said no pickles!" Right away, because neither of her partners are socially confident enough to stand up for themselves.

Grace is the "Excuse me? He asked for no pickles. Could we get a replacement, please? Thank you!" Because she can stand up for her partners, just not got herself.

Pete would sooner eat the pickle then dare correct anyone for himself. With the exceptions of when his blood sugar is low and he wants his god-damned hot chocolate, and for his partners. He has a backbone, it just only exists for everyone else. It's not for himself to use.

7: Grace is the ultimate clothes thief. They all steal clothes from each other, but if there was a contest, Grace would win by a landslide.

[notsogoodphotographer]

Hi i want to talk about my all time favorite camera 📸

pls ignore all my grammar mistakes, i’m not professional reviewer 😂 i just wanna talk about this camera.

This is the Sony RX1Rii, this is the third and “most recent” version of this camera. i put “most recent” in quotes because this camera is almost 10 years old. don’t like the old age fool you because this camera can keep up with the newest cameras in its niche.

This little point and shoot sports a 42mp full frame sensor. YES, F U L L F R A M E!! This tiny camera is actually smaller than all the x100 series (minus the lens on it). The camera has an incredibly sharp Zeiss Sonnar 35mm f2 glued to. This camera has 399 af points, with eye AF. The camera is incredibly fast and accurate!! the camera is pretty much a tiny packaged Sony A7Rii!

One of my favorite features of this camera is the pop-up EVF! This is a feature that was added to only this version of the camera and it’s a feature that i wish sony continued to incorporate into some of their other smaller cameras like the A7c or a6k series!

The camera does shoot video up to 1080 120fps, but does not have picture profiles such has S-log or HLG. This was a camera made strictly for photos, which is probably for the best because the battery life on this camera is terrible, any kind of prolong video shooting would absolutely burn through these batteries in minutes.

That brings me to my next point, my cons. There’s not many but i figured i’d point them out anyways for those who are interested in this camera. these aren’t make it or break it cons, these are just issues that hinder it from being the greatest camera ever released (IMO)

1) battery life, i believe it’s rated for like 220 shots. Ive definitely gotten it to last twice than that. That tiny body processing all that data on some of the tiniest batteries makes sense why it’s so bad. Luckily batteries are cheap and like i said they’re tiny, so they’re pretty easy to carry around!

2) no picture profiles in video. i know i touched on it briefly up above and this camera is mainly a photo camera AAAAAND hybrid cameras were just beginning to grow in popularity around the time this camera came out but it would’ve been amazing to have s-log in this camera for little snippets here and there. i know at the time IG and other photo sharing apps were mainly photo sharing apps, and a camera that was built strictly for photo has no business having usable picture profiles in video.

3) no crop mode in RAW. this one is weird to me because i know the A7Rii has an APS-C mode where you can shoot RAW photos with an inbody crop and there’s times that i’d love to shoot something at 50mm (35mm + sony’s 1.5x aps-c crop). there is a digital zoom option but that’s for jpg only.

4) PRICE!!!! why the fuck is this camera still being sold for $3200??!! this is a 10 year old camera with outdated tech. i bought mine used for $1900 (which is about the price of the fuji x100V at the time of purchase) and i still think that’s a little too much.

that’s really about it aside from minor complaints of not having tele/ wide converters. i’m also sure all of those cons stem from the small battery. I’d love to see all of these corrected in a Mk3 one day, but as of a couple weeks ago sony just discontinued the Rx1rii’s production. I’m being a little hopeful but maybe that means we’re getting a successor, i doubt it but a boy can dream.

I don’t really do reviews or anything but this camera has had my heart for the past 9 months so i had to show it off/ talk about it. this to me in the perfect everyday camera. it never leaves my side and comes with me to any and every trip! Im always blown away by the photos i create with this little camera and i know whenever a mk3 comes out im going to hop on the chance to buy on immediately!

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 22

welcome to the twenty-second fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

1. you’re the one that never lets me roam by @littendeservesbetter

If any of his teammates were insulted—if Allura’s leadership was doubted, if Hunk was called too soft, if Pidge was underestimated, if Keith was attacked for his Galran heritage—Lance would defend them in a heartbeat. He knows his team and he loves his second family. He’d defend them to the universe and back.

So why wouldn’t they do the same for him?

-

season 7 episode 4: Lance's thoughts after the game show.

this fic is genuinely one of my favourite handlings of that piece of shit episode ever fr. its klance BUT also not a half-assed apology!! im not articulating this right but my point is that this is handled so well and god bless my fellow lance stans

2. xo by @thespacenico

keith confesses to lance hoping that the expected rejection will help him move on ASAP. it doesn't quite go according to plan.

darcy does not miss!! seriously her fics always make me smile. my two favourite parts of this fic were  that a) when lance didn’t know who keith liked he assumed immediately and wholeheartedly it was hunk. that’s golden right there and b) shiro is a DRAMA LOVING BITCH

3. for you only by @paprbee

"Be mine," Keith mumbles, pleas, against Lance's lips, unwilling to pull away. "Yes," Lance whispers, smiling as Keith brushes their lips together again, pressing up and forward to kiss Keith properly. "You too... be mine, too." "I am," Keith tells him when they break apart reluctantly, their foreheads pressed together, tip of their noses touching, Keith's arms squeezing Lance gently in their hold around his waist and lower back. "I'm yours."

okay i cannot describe how much this fic makes me lose my mind in my own words i literally have to give you guys a snippet of the fic that made me actually cry real tears and struggle to breathe:

"Baby," Keith says softly and it sends a thrill through Lance, hearing pet names from Keith is so rare he always melts when he does hear them, specially when they're whispered against his lips this way. He presses a soft chaste kiss into Lance again before he continues to mutter softly. "My baby, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

its just. the devotion. the repetition. it always fucking gets me. from keith especially, bc hes such a devoted guy!! he is loyal to a goddamn fault and beyond like!!! thats how he loves!! with his whole heart his whole body his whole soul his own being!! he loves and loves and loves!!!

4. i’ll be your romeo by @jilliancares

In a world where Soul Marks show up only after your soulmate has fallen in love with you, it's rare for them to appear when you're not already in a relationship. It's even rarer for them to show up when you're standing on a chair in your favorite coffee shop, screeching at the sight of a spider. Lance becomes well-acquainted with this brand of "rare", and he gets the cute barista, Keith, to help him with the search for his soulmate.

first of all soulmate aus my beloved. second of all jillian fics my beloved. third of all this fic is SO dorky and i love it!! i was hooked by the first scene bc it was just so funny. the way keith falls for lance...hes such a goober i love him

5. finally, you’re mine by @nezueye

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Okay. Anything,” Keith says easily.

[...]

“Okay so, I just need-“ Lance sighs. He pushes his hands through his hair and braces himself. “I need you to break my heart. Once and for all.”

Keith chokes on his next words. “Excuse me?”

“Break my heart.”

- or -

Does Lance finally get the guy?

this is another devotion fic bc i am fully and completely obsessed with them. i made a seperate rec for this fic a couple months ago bc it truly made my breath stop like i could not process. there were three scenes in particular that made me gasp out loud and make my heart pound. just the easy way they love each other...sobbing

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!  

[driftycities]

Okay everyone, take this as my official introduction to the LITG fandom! I haven't written any fanfic in 5+ years, and this is my first LITG fic, so please be kind!!

I'll be uploading to ao3 as soon as I'm off the waitlist (didn't realize there was one, whoops), so for now please enjoy it here!!

Excited to talk and theorize this season with you all 🥰

💕 MC/Lewie fluff

🏠 Post-villa AU

📝 7.2k+ words

“Babes, fuck, I’ve really gotta go!” 

Lewie rarely swore. Sage had noticed that about him pretty early on, and she found something so charming and pure about it. When he did swear, it came out of him as more of an aggressive whisper than anything else, and sometimes he even apologized after. She’s pretty sure she had uttered a curse at least once every time she spoke in the villa, but he never minded. He always gave her his softest, cheekiest smile, like he was amused with the language that would come out of her mouth. The first time she heard him swear was when he stubbed his toe on the end of their bed one night, a few nights after they were finally allowed to be a couple for the first time in the villa. The “Oooh, shit” had come out of him so quietly Sage wasn’t sure if she even heard him correctly. But for some reason, the innocence of it all had made her heart flutter. 

Since then, Lewie has only cursed aloud in front of her if one of four things were happening: 1) he hurt himself (for a professional midfielder, Sage always wondered how he could be so clumsy around his own furniture), 2) he was drunk, 3) they were fucking (Sage’s personal favourite; the first time she heard his low growl ‘fuck’ she nearly came right then and there), and 4) he was running late to the pitch. Today was number four. 

It was their last game of the season, and if they won, they would be promoted to Championship football. They weren’t expecting to be this successful this season and Sage could see the pressure was starting to mount on Lewie over the past few months. It had been even worse for him over the past week after an unexpected loss, and she worried he was spending too much time taking care of his teammates instead of himself. She did everything she could to ease his stress - two-hour back rubs, making his favourite dinners, motivational pep talks that she wasn’t sure were working or not, and a lot of blowjobs. She never imagined herself enjoying blowjobs as much as she does now, but it was something about the way he reacted to her - his low moans and subtle gasps as his body shook from pleasure - that made her go just as crazy. And Lewie never let her go without returning the favour. In those moments Sage could see his stress crumble as he allowed himself to breathe, but it never took long for his walls to go back up. He tried to hide it as best he could so as not to worry her, but she felt him toss and turn at night, noticed how often he was zoning out, and saw something that resembled fear behind his small smiles. He brushed it off as nerves, but he was a terrible liar. 

Sage came out of the bathroom, scrunching her damp, blonde hair in a towel to see Lewie hurriedly tying his training boots and muttering to himself. He was dressed in his warmup gear - a blue training jacket that complemented his blue eyes perfectly and fitted black and white joggers that left little to the imagination - with his duffle bag already thrown over his shoulder. He hadn’t had time to fix his hair that morning so his blonde strands looked like a dishevelled mess, but hell, she didn’t mind. He looked so fucking good.

Almost two years later and she still couldn’t believe her luck. Their luck. They had won Love Island with over fifty per cent of the vote, her sister had come in second with Marshall, and her and Lewie’s best friends, Grace and Ozzy, had come third. Lewie’s old football team had been promoted to a higher league that same summer - something he described as only the second best thing that had happened to him that year - and shortly after, he had been transferred to Charlton United, a London team that brought him into the third tier of English football, and right into Sage’s flat. They had excitedly made plans to move into a larger place if his team got promoted this year, somewhere a bit closer to the training facility, and she was planning on opening up another gym in Greenwich. 

Everything was going a little too perfectly with them. It scared her sometimes, and each day she woke up half expecting World War III to be burning outside because at least that would make a bit more sense than whatever fucking perfection was going on here. Both of them got along with each other’s parents (even their parents were good friends now), Sage had been preparing to move to Cardiff until Lewie landed here by some miracle, they were planning to get a dog together (and both wanted a Bernese Mountain Dog since they were children, go figure), and if she thought she was in love with him the night they won, she wasn’t sure what to call it now. Something even deeper, more profound, something unspoken between the two of them that gave way in small touches and glances. 

They had fights, of course, but Lewie was almost just as perfect during an argument. He handled her hot temper with grace, never raising his voice and allowing her space to cool down before they could talk calmly. He owned up to his mistakes and apologized whenever he did something wrong, which was rare. Sage could see why he made captain at his new club within just three months. He just had a natural easiness and camaraderie with everyone he encountered. She would spend the rest of her life wondering why he chose her if he gave her that gift. 

“Babes, gimme a kiss real quick, I have to go!” His hurried Welsh accent snapped her out of her thoughts and she smiled at him, kissing him with sweet haste. “I’ll see you at the game, yeah?”

“I’ll be the one wearing number eight,” she winked. She found it funny that he still asked when she hadn’t missed a game - home and away - since they’d been in London together. “Don’t forget, Amelia and Marshall and Ozzy and Grace are coming too!”

“It’d be hard to forget with all of Ozzy’s good luck messages,” he laughed. He gave her another kiss, this time letting it linger with a soft hand on her cheek. “I’ll see you lot there. I love you.”

“Good luck babes, I love you. You got this.” They shared another smile before he left, and she had to laugh as she glanced at the clock. Lewie considered himself “late” if he wasn’t at least two hours early. 

Sage would always be grateful that Lewie was on the pitch and not with her in the stands, screaming a curse every other word and maybe bullying the referee just a little. He may appreciate her passion, but be utterly horrified by the words coming out of her mouth. She blamed her dad, who had season tickets to Arsenal games while she was growing up, and exposing her to football culture at a young age. She cursed for the first time when she was 11, calling the referee a “fucking wanker” in her oversized Thierry Henry shirt, and perhaps the first time she made her dad proud. She did get a lecture about her language afterwards, but it was hard to take her dad seriously when he couldn’t stop smiling. 

Thankfully, Amelia was with her today, so she didn’t have to hide it like when she watched games with Lewie’s parents. God, that had been torture. His parents assured her they didn’t mind, but they shared the same tranquil nature as Lewie and she didn’t want to ruin their peace by screaming at a man just trying to officiate the match, however poorly he was doing it.

“Oi, what a piece of fucking garbage!” Amelia huffed and sipped her beer, shaking her head. “What piece of shit let him graduate referee school?”

“They’re all pieces of fucking shit!” Sage countered, shaking her head and sipping her drink in unison with Amelia. They were only twenty minutes into the match, but that was more than enough time for their blood pressure to spike. Behind them, Ozzy and Grace silently watched the match, chuckling at Sage and Amelia.

“You two are the real entertainment here,” Grace laughed, wrapping her arm around Ozzy’s. “Who would have thought I’d enjoy a football match this much?”

Marshall slung his arm around Amelia’s shoulder, wearing a bright smile as he watched the match. “I’ve gotta bring you to more games, love, your yelling is kinda turning me on.” With that, Amelia giggled as she buried herself into him. Sage was about to tell them to get a fucking room, but the referee then allowed the opposing team a penalty kick after a very unintentional and barely noticeable “handball” and she felt her anger being redirected. 

“Oh, what the fuck buddy?! Did you even pass your last eye exam?!”

“I’ll pay for your new frames you fuckin’ shithead!”

Grace stifled a giggle as Ozzy playfully shook his head. “You know he can’t hear you two, right?”

“If he could, I’d be banned from this place a long time ago,” Sage mused, watching as the other team scored an easy goal from their penalty. “Oh, fuck.”

Amelia’s face fell as she swapped glances with the rest of the group, a knowing look on all of them that resembled the subtle fear Lewie had been carrying around with him all week. Marshall hugged Amelia closer, quietly whispering, “It’s alright, he’s got time. Still early.”

Sage found Lewie on the pitch as they fell back into their starting formation, watching as he energised his teammates and ensured their heads were still in the game. He moved to the crowd then, lifting his arms and clapping to make sure they were still energized too. Sage loved how much he loved his fans - he knew they were an integral part of the team’s success and their noise always motivated him. Once he got the crowd roaring again, he looked for her face in the seat that’s been reserved for her all season, and smiled sweetly when he caught her eye. As he waited for the whistle he placed his hand subtly over his heart, and she mimicked the motion, smiling knowingly at each other until the whistle forced his attention back to the game. 

“God, you two are so perfect,” Amelia sighed, smiling at her sister. “And you’re going to have very blonde and perfect adorable little babies one day.” 

Sage couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head a little. “Well, you’re going to have little Jason Mamoas running around, so you’re one to talk.” She wrapped her arm around her sister and leaned into her, sighing softly. “Babes, this is the biggest game of Lewie’s career so far, and if he loses this one I’m afraid I won’t be able to comfort him in the way he needs.”

“Oh please,” Amelia scoffed, squeezing Sage’s shoulder. “That boy lives to make you happy. He’ll be okay as long as he knows the people around him are okay, especially you. Besides, he’s got a lot of reasons to fight for this one.” 

Sage would’ve questioned her further, but Lewie had the ball and he was making the Oxford players look like they still played in youth league. She cheered as he showed off his footwork, manoeuvering himself and the ball out of small spaces, eventually serving a perfect cross to the box and right at the feet of their striker in waiting. He hit the ball perfectly, and it soared into the back of the net, triggering the crowd to erupt in a crazed hype of applause and yells. Sage was confident she was the loudest of them all.

It stayed 1-1 until halftime, and Marshall and Ozzy left to retrieve everyone another round of drinks. With a bit more alcohol in their system, Amelia and Sage grew a little louder and a bit more brazen in the second half, with Grace joining in on the referee shaming, laughing every time she insulted him. “Oh shit, this is fun!” she mused. 

Eighty-eight minutes in and they were all a bit more rigid as the game came down to the wire. A tie wouldn’t matter, they needed to win if they wanted to be promoted, and the whole stadium felt it. Sage had her eyes fixed on Lewie for the past ten or so minutes, watching as his sweat coated him in a sweet glisten and made more noticeable the tan he’d been developing over the spring, and his already insane quads. He adjusted his captain’s armband as he waited for a throw-in, running his hands through his drenched hair, although it was no use. He subtly battled with an Oxford player as they awaited the throw-in, deep in Oxford’s territory. When the ball landed at his feet, Sage swore she had never seen such determination and hostility in his otherwise innocent blue eyes. Fuck, she thought, biting her lip. He’s going to get the fuck of his life tonight. He won the battle (as he usually does), and started dribbling toward the Oxford box, only one defender in his way-

“What the fuck?!”

Lewie had yelled so loud when he hit the ground that she was sure the TV audience at home probably heard it. The defender had tackled him savagely just outside the box, prompting a quick whistle and a yellow card that most certainly should have been red. Sage watched as Lewie got up and wiped some grass and sweat off his forehead, shaking his head. She breathed a quick sigh of relief knowing that he was okay, but her anxiety refused to let up as Lewie prepared for the free kick. He lifted his shirt to wipe his face, his abs peaking through and glistening in sweat as he chattered with a teammate about their tactic.

Lewie was going to go for it. She knew he was, and the team would be stupid not to let him. Whereas he wasn’t always the most confident around her, he was confident on the pitch and he was confident as fuck when it came to free kicks. That was his speciality. Her magician. 

He waited for the whistle as he quickly looked in her direction, giving her that signature smile and hand on his heart. She replicated the motion, giving him an encouraging nod that she wasn’t sure he’d be able to see. 

“Come on, Lew,” Amelia muttered anxiously, her hands on her face. The clock was at ninety minutes now, and the assistant referee announced there would be just two added minutes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, two?! What a fuckin’ shithead.” Sage was practically bouncing up and down now, shaking her head at the referee and holding her hands together to calm her nerves. Grace put her hands on her shoulder, giving them a quick squeeze. 

“He’s got this, love,” she whispered encouragingly. 

The whistle sounded, and Sage watched as Lewie’s chest moved with a deep breath, his hands at his hips. His vision narrowed on the top right corner of the goal, and then the ball, and he delicately jogged up to it, kicking it forcefully with a curve to get it behind the wall. The entire stadium held their breath at that moment, a deafening silence as everyone watched the path of the ball…which made the ding of the crossbar that much more painful. Sage’s breath hitched as the rest of the stadium groaned and yelled unpleasantly, but she could barely hear them. Her senses were locked on Lewie, who was trying to save the play after the ball bounced back into the box, but a defender quickly punted it out of play. 

The whistle sounded to declare the game over. 

The Oxford away fans stormed the pitch from the other end, where their players met them halfway, shouting and celebrating like it was their home pitch. 

But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Lewie. He had collapsed to his knees after the whistle, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, hands on his hips. He was completely zoned out, staring at the crossbar. She didn’t want to imagine what kind of shit the fans yelling at him behind the goal right now. He ran a hand through his hair before leaning forward on his arms, his head in the damp grass, and she hoped that would help muffle the sound of the stadium. If he needed to be in his own world for a moment, then he deserved to do that for however long he needed.

It seemed like he was in that position for ages before he slowly climbed up to his feet, the life drained from his features as he used the end of his shirt to wipe his eyes. He walked over defeatedly to his teammates who had also let their legs collapse from underneath them, some of them sitting in the grass, some laying on their backs, some just standing motionless as they tried to drown out the celebrations on the other end. 

He hoisted each one of them up, telling them something in their ear and slapping their back affectionately. He gathered the entire team before they walked to the stands, applauding and thanking their fans for giving them their Saturday afternoon and sticking with them. 

They made their way around the stadium, and Sage saw Lewie crack a small smile for the first time as he met a young fan in the first row. The little boy had been crying, but something Lewie said made him smile, and his eyes lit up when Lewie took off his jersey and handed it to him. 

What a fucking man, Sage thought, her own tears glistening in her eyes. Just had the worst heartbreak of his life and he’s out here making sure this boy has something good to leave here with. 

As the team made their way into the tunnels, Lewie looked up at her seat for the first time and mustered a small smile, shirtless and fiddling with his captain armband in his hands. She offered a smile back, but he had already switched his gaze to Amelia. He shook his head subtly at her before looking down and heading into the locker room. 

Amelia sighed sadly next to her, and Sage glanced over, asking, “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Amelia smiled, wiping a tear from her eye. “C’mon, let’s go wait for him outside.” She wrapped her arm around Sage before they joined the rest of the crowd shuffling out. 

An hour later and Sage was climbing into the car with Lewie, who had switched into a white t-shirt and grey joggers. He had taken a quick shower, but his hair was still a mess, and his eyes were red with strain. 

“Lewie, you still up for dinner, mate?” Ozzy called gently, opening his passenger door for Grace. 

“Yeah,” Lewie replied through the window, and it wasn’t lost on Sage that his voice was just slightly hoarse. “We’ll see you lot there at 8, yeah?”

“See you there, Lew!,” Amelia called, smiling at him encouragingly. “You did great today by the way.” Lewie just nodded as Amelia and Marshall got into their car, driving away behind Grace and Ozzy. Lewie watched as they drove off and once they were out of sight he dropped his hand from the gear shift and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel and burying his face into his hands.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered softly, his body slightly shaking. 

Sage had never seen him like this. He’d lost before, but he never carried it like this. He always tried to find the positives after a loss - “we just need to work on our defence more”, “I’ve gotta get the guys to play with a bit more heart next time”, “we can beat them next time, it was just a bad day”, “I’ll train harder next time”, “we need to work on our set piece tactics, that’s all”. She understood why this loss was so different - he had been so fucking close to the Championship league and it fell apart right in front of him, at ninety minutes and not enough time to recover. There was no ‘next time’, at least not until the new season in three months, where they’d have to start from scratch again. She felt his pain then when the crossbar dinged, when the final whistle sounded, and she feels it now. She felt everything with him. But she wanted more than that - she wanted to make him feel okay with the loss, at peace with it, she wanted him to know that she was still so fucking proud of him and that was never going to change. 

She rested her hand on his back, rubbing it softly as he tried to steady his breathing. “Babes,” she started gently. “I know this one fucking hurts, but you have to know how fucking proud of you I am. One bad moment does not define you. You played your fucking heart out there today and you were bloody amazing. Can we talk about that fucking assist? Blew my fucking mind. And after the game, you let yourself process your thoughts for however long you needed before getting the team together and thanking the fans, who don’t always deserve it, but you do it anyway because that’s who you are. You made a little kid’s whole fucking week because you want others to be happy even when you’re not. You encourage everyone around you to be better, you make sure everyone around you is okay, and you deserve that peace too. This one will take some time, yeah, but next season you won’t just be fucking promoted, you’ll win the whole fucking thing. I’ve never met anyone as determined or modest as you, and you deserve the whole fucking world.”

He sighed and sat up straighter, looking over at her for the first time and taking her hand softly into his own, kissing it sweetly. “I love you. Thank you for always being here, win or lose, or…tie.” He squeezed her hand gently and smiled sweetly, but she could tell he was still holding something back. He looked down at her hand, sighing softly again. “I just…” he started, swallowing. “I didn’t know what to say to them. In the locker room. I had no idea what to fucking say. This one was big and it was my bloody fault.”

“Hey.” Her voice was soft as she held his cheek in her hand, his stubble tickling her slightly. “It wasn’t your fault. You led this team so fucking well this year and brought them to where they are right now, isn’t that right, Mr. Leads-The-League-In-Assists?”

He smiled a little wider this time, nodding hesitantly. “Yeah,” he mused. “I just…” He trailed off, waving his hand slightly. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” He gave her an almost-convincing smile as he squeezed her hand again. “I love you more than anything, you know that, right?” His eyes were as sincere as she’d ever seen them, and she felt his love just through his gaze. Two years later and she was still getting butterflies. 

“Yeah, I know. I love you just as much, if not more.”

He scoffed at that. “Mmm, sure. Let’s get you home so we can get ready for dinner.” He leaned over to give her a kiss and she held him to her lips, kissing him hard, trying to convey all of her love and pride for him in just that single moment. 

They didn’t get to the restaurant until it was almost 8:30 - Sage’s fault, and definitely not Lewie’s, who had been ready an hour and a half earlier. He had come to expect this after nearly two years together, hell, he knew it way back in the villa when she was always the last to come downstairs. He never minded it, he actually loved it - she was always worth the wait. And once they moved in together he started being something like her hype man, watching her try on outfit after outfit and telling her how fucking amazing she looked in everything. He wasn’t much of a help in that way, he supposed, but he wasn’t lying, and he definitely wasn’t planning on stopping. Once an outfit rendered him speechless, she knew she had found the one. Tonight, it was a sleek, pastel pink dress that hugged her curves with a slit that travelled to her thigh, and for a few moments, as he stared at her, he forgot all about the match. 

They walked into the restaurant hand in hand, scanning the room for their friends until Amelia waved them down from a corner table. Lewie moved his hand to Sage’s lower back, guiding her over and awaiting the surprise when she saw-

“Our parents?!” She exclaimed, looking up at him in shock. He just smiled, nodded and led her over to see them. 

They greeted their parents happily, and Lewie pretended not to notice his mum’s lingering gaze on his still reddened eyes. He was surprised when Sage’s dad opted for a hug instead of their usual handshake but took it appreciatively. They had grown quite close over the past couple of years - her dad was well into his football and tried to convert him into an Arsenal fan but with no luck. He went to a lot of his games, always sitting with Sage, and Lewie was pretty sure he’d heard them wildly insult the ref on numerous occasions. He never said anything - he didn’t want to embarrass her, and he loved the image of her and her dad acting like lunatics in the stands. It never bothered him, he was proud that she had his back like that. He just smiled to himself and played harder for her. 

“I’m sorry about the match, Lewie,” her dad spoke quietly into his ear. “You played great as always, but I’m sorry you couldn’t go through with your plan.” He gave Lewie an encouraging smile as he pulled away, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “Right, now that they finally showed up, can we eat?”

Throughout dinner, Lewie’s hand never left Sage’s thigh, like letting go of it would just bring him back to the ding of the crossbar. Her touch was like a fucking drug, starving off the bad thoughts that he had after every poor match. He tried to keep it to himself most of the time, which was usually pretty easy, but this one was nearly impossible to keep in. He had plans. And he worried that the ding of the fucking crossbar would ruin everything. He gently squeezed her thigh as he tried to convince himself that the fucking ding wouldn’t haunt his dreams tonight. 

He listened as Sage laughed with Amelia, trading stories of their childhood like they always did when they were together. He was surprised at how many stories they had, but they always left him amused as he imagined a young Sage getting into trouble. He talked with her parents a bit more, going over his plans for the summer and when his pre-season training would start up again. He reminisced on villa memories with Marshall, Grace, and Ozzy, bringing him back to one of the happiest times of his life as he held Sage closer. His mom had told him what a great game he had, and that it must’ve been a gust of wind that moved the ball to the crossbar. He appreciated the effort, but it left him feeling worse. Sage dropped her hand to his thigh then, squeezing it assuredly and smiling at him. He mustered up a smile of his own, but it couldn’t help the pit in his stomach. 

After they had finished eating, Lewie reluctantly left Sage’s side to get a drink at the bar at Ozzy’s request. He ran his hand through his hair as he leaned on the bar, fiddling with one of the coasters. “You can still do it, y’know,” Ozzy muttered, looking over at him. 

Lewie shrugged defeatedly, sighing sadly. “You know it’s complicated now.”

“She would follow you across the fucking globe, mate.”

“I don’t want to put her in that position.” He glanced over at their table, watching with butterflies in his stomach as she tipped her head back and laughed intoxicatingly at something her dad said. The pit returned soon after, though, as he was reminded of the circumstances. “I’m not moving her away from her family.”

“You remember when she almost moved to Cardiff with you?”

“I went along with it because I knew I had the London offer coming in,” Lewie admitted, flipping the coaster in his hands. 

“Well,” Ozzy sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that was further than where you might be going now.” The bartender came over and took their order, pouring their two scotches quickly before handing it over. “You just need to talk to her. Let her have a say in this decision.”

“I’m not going, Oz,” Lewie said, taking a sip of his scotch. “I’m staying in London. We have plans here. She has family here. We have you guys here.”

“So you’re going to deny the opportunity you’ve been given because what?” Ozzy was facing him now, waving his arm around, growing a bit impatient. “Because you think she’s going to say no? Because she’ll miss her family? You guys will be a train ride away from here, and all of the plans you have here can be done elsewhere.”

“It’s more than a train ride,” he muttered. “Her life has always been here, Ozzy. She’s happy here. She has family here, her business is here. We have another shot next season, I’ll just make damn sure it happens for us this time.” He rubbed his face in his hands, shaking his head. “She’s done so much for me already, mate, I have to give her something in return. She deserves this at least.”

“Lewie, at least give her the fucking option. If she found out you had this offer on the table and you didn’t take it, she’ll never forgive you.” Ozzy took a swig of his scotch, shaking his head. “Scratch that, she probably would eventually forgive you, but that’s just how much she fucking loves you. And if we’re talking about what she deserves, she deserves to know what’s going on with your life right now.” He gave him a pointed look before walking back to the table, sitting down beside Grace and wrapping his arm around her, getting himself up to speed with the conversation. 

Lewie slowly drank the rest of his scotch at the bar, battling himself in his mind and mulling over the past few months. He would have bet on a promotion two months ago when the team was in top form and playing well together. But one bad game after another, and here they were. He blamed himself for a lot of it - as captain, he should have led the team better. He should have kept them motivated. He should have done a better job at reminding them what was on the line. Maybe he should have been harder on them. Maybe he should have been more understanding. Maybe he should have been practising his fucking free kicks a lot more. He had no fucking clue, but he would be going over every moment in his mind for a long time, no matter where he ended up at the end of the summer. He would’ve loved to keep playing with this team - he was proud of how much better they’d gotten over the season, he was close friends with a few of the guys, and they were in London. He’d been here for a year and a half now, and he liked to think this is where his life was. Surrounded by friends, Sage’s family, her business, and her. Her life was here and he’d worried she wouldn’t feel at home anywhere else. She’d been more than willing to move to Cardiff with him after the show, but he made her wait until the January transfer window, knowing he had a few clubs interested in him. The London move was a dream come true for both of them, and he knew she’d been relieved. He’d hate taking that dream away now. 

His eyes flashed up to the screen above the bar, seeing the match’s highlights playing over. He sighed as he watched the free kick, cringing at seeing how fucking close he had been. He swore he could hear the ding all over again as he finished his scotch and returned to the table. 

Sage looked questioningly at him as he sat down, but he squeezed her hand under the table to let her know everything was alright. He had no fucking idea if it actually was, but he did know Ozzy was right. She deserved to know what was going on with him. 

Everyone said their goodbyes not long after, and Sage thanked their parents for the surprise. Lewie shared another hug with her dad, thanking him for coming to his match and to dinner. “You still have my blessing,” he just replied quietly. “Win or lose, or tie, her answer will be the same.” Lewie smiled and nodded his appreciation, trying to ignore the pang in his stomach. 

As they climbed into their car, Sage sighed loudly. “You alright, babes?,” he asked, looking over at her as he shut the door. 

“Lewie, what the fuck is going on?” She asked, looking at him pointedly, her soft green eyes pleading with him. “Why are our parents out for dinner with us? And more importantly, why are your parents here from Wales, and why was it such a fucking surprise?” She sighed again, running her fingers through her blonde waves. “Amelia has been acting weird all day, you’ve been acting weird, my dad has been acting weird, Ozzy has been acting weird - and what happened at the bar with you two? It didn’t look like he was very happy with you.”

He sighed softly, moving his body awkwardly in the car so that he was facing her. He took her hands in his, fiddling with the rings she wore, and noticing how empty her ring finger looked. She deserves to know what is going on in my life, he told himself, taking a deep breath. No matter how much it scared him, she deserved a choice. He looked up into her eyes, admiring how the moonlight bounced off them. He noticed that on their first date in the villa, when he was telling her his dreams and his dream date, and he felt his body fill with warmth as he remembered taking her on that very date a week after the show ended. They had been through so much since then, but he never doubted their relationship, never doubted that she was his person, never doubted that they would grow old together with their five plus dogs and a house on the beach. 

“Are you breaking up with me?”

The question caught him off guard, and he shook his head, looking at her incredulously. And he couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Babes, if I were breaking up with you, why the hell would I invite our parents?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, looking down and laughing. They giggled together for a minute, and he welcomed the sound. It calmed him. “But you’re being very serious and very weird tonight, so it crossed my mind.”

He shook his head again, smiling softly but confidently at her like it was the wildest thought she ever had. “We weren’t supposed to lose today,” he started finally, squeezing her hands. “It wasn’t the plan.” He sighed as she moved her body to face him. 

“That’s okay,” she started softly. “You still played amazing, and next season you’re going to win the whole fucking thing. You guys are more than-”

He nodded, gently putting his finger to her lips. “I know,” he smiled. “Thank you for saying that, but please, let me finish.” She nodded, kissing his finger and letting him continue. “I had a plan for today - I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Once we started climbing the table earlier in the season, I thought about it. For a bit, I thought no way in hell we wouldn’t be promoted. We were doing really well, in top form, and so I planned something for the last game of the season. But then we had a couple of bad matches, and everyone else started playing good all of a sudden, and I just…” he trailed off, sighing again. He tried to keep himself on track. “My plan isn’t important, but losing the game today just mucked up a lot of stuff in my head. I just had this vision, and now I’m a bit scared, to be honest.” She gently squeezed his hands as he caught his breath. “My agent told me a few weeks ago that some clubs were interested in signing me this summer. I don’t have a whole lot of say in this stuff, but I can say no, so please remember that.” He squeezed her hands, meeting her eyes pleadingly, wanting to make sure she knew that no is an option. She just nodded, waiting for him to go on. “Most of the offers are from other level three teams, but one…”

“Oh my god, Lewie,” she started, her eyes widening. She couldn’t help the smile that crawled onto her face, having a good feeling about whatever it was he was about to say. 

“One of them is from the Championship, and specifically, Middlesbrough.” 

“Middlesbrough?!” She threw her hands around his neck, hugging him as best she could in the close confines of the car, but she didn’t care. Any offer from the Championship was huge, but Middlesbrough?! They were a good, solid team, and looked to be promoted to top-flight football in the next few years. She was so fucking proud of him, and he deserved all of this.

He held onto her, letting himself smile into the crook of her neck. He knew she’d be happy for him, but her happiness was still so fucking contagious that for a moment he forgot why he didn’t tell her sooner. “Babes, fuck, I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. 

“I haven’t anything on paper yet, don’t get too excited,” he told her, smiling as she pulled away. “But they’re looking to restructure a bit heading into next season, and they want a ‘solid, leading number eight’”. Her smile just grew wider, and he was grateful for the night sky for hiding his small blush. 

“Lewie, this is fucking great news! You deserve all of this,” she told him, the moonlight giving way to the sincerity in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“It’s Middlesbrough, babes, not exactly a stone’s throw away from London. And I knew if I told you, you’d want me to take it. But you have your whole life here…your family, business, friends…I can’t let you move away from all that. And I’m not going anywhere without you.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why winning the match today was so important. We get promoted and I get to stay in London to keep building this life with you. Your dreams are here, and I’m not taking that away from you just so we can go chase mine. I just want you to be happy.”

She smiled sweetly at him, cupping his face in her hands. “Lewie Griffin, you are my dream. I can run a gym anywhere. I’ll arrange visits with friends and family, and we can spend your offseasons here during the summers. But there is absolutely no fucking way you’re saying no to this. I am happy wherever you are. London is not my home, you are. My dream is to wear your kit number to all of your matches until you’re a cranky, forty-year-old captain who can’t bring himself to quit. And when they finally make you, we can retire to our house on the beach with our five-plus dogs.”

He smiled at her sheepishly, leaning into her touch. “Babes, I feel like it’s easy to say that, but I’m gonna be pulling you out of London into a place where you don’t know anyone, away from your gym, not to mention how cold it gets there.” He looked sadly at her, his mind replaying all of the plans they had made when they thought he’d stay in London for a while longer. “I don’t want my job to dictate where you live, it’s not fair.”

“Lewie,” she sighed softly, still smiling at him. “You worry about me too much.” She softly caressed his cheek with her thumb. “I don’t care where I live, as long as you’re with me. I can handle the cold, I can make friends with the other WAGs, and Middlesbrough has miles of gorgeous coastline. Maybe we can invest in that house on the beach before we’re old and grey.”

He took her hands and held them to his forehead, shaking his head. “Why you gotta make everything sound so perfect and convincing?” She giggled. “Nah, I’m serious,” he laughed. “I’ve been really struggling with this, y’know.”

“You don’t have to hold this stuff in, babes, I promise it’s always scarier in your head,” she assured him, looking into his soft eyes. “It’s you and me forever, we’re a team of two.” She winked at him before adjusting herself. “Now tell me about this plan you had, because it seemed pretty fucking important, and Amelia was being weird as today.”

He contemplated for a moment, wondering if he should ask her now. He’s known he wanted to marry her as soon as she stepped out of the villa on the first day, so he really wasn’t sure what he was waiting for after two years. He just knew it had to be perfect - that’s what she deserved from him, always. And a parking lot was far from it. 

He glanced at the backseat quickly, making sure his duffle bag was still in the car, where he had safely kept the ring for eight months now. The pitch would be locked up now, but his manager had given him a spare set of keys after he found him waiting outside at 4 am one day to start training early. Lewie decided then that he would still go through with his plan that night, but not in the parking lot of a pub called The Cow. 

His parents would be here all weekend, they could still celebrate tomorrow. 

“Buckle up,” he just told her, smiling cheekily. 

“Lewie Griffin,” she mused, doing as she was told. “Full of surprises today.”

[greenerteacups]

I power read Lionheart months ago and it's been living in my brain ever since. In random moments, I see/think about your characters in the world around me. Like: a couple in the park holding hands? I start musing on your Draco's PDA thoughts. I remember the handholding moment as the Third Task started. I see a threadbare book in the thrift store? I wonder how fired up Hermione would be if someone asked her if wizards had an obligation to fix Muggle goods. If Reparo can fix a roof (and costs a witch nothing), should impoverished Muggles have to fight with their insurance company after a storm? On and on. I love it.

Thanks for opening up your asks for questions! Seriously, that's a badass move. There have been a few stressful moments in my life where--bing!--I check Tumblr and read one of your answers and I'm immersed in your HP world again, carefree and curious. <3

I have about a billion things I could ask/am curious about, but I'll restrain myself to two. This time. ;-)

Draco's mentioned once or twice that Harry & Ron don't understand him and Hermione. I was interested in that moment right before Draco follows Hermione to the Owlery. Harry stopped Ron from saying anything, and Draco recognizes that he's probably just as ignorant about Harry and Ron's friendship. So: 1) Is it too spoilery to ask what Harry (dear, sweet boy that he is) has noticed about Hermione & Draco? Does he think of them as one nerdbrain, or is he like Draco? Hermione? Weren't they married like, ages ago? I'm so fascinated by what others see when they look at Draco and Hermione because good GOD, what a power couple. And 2) Could you speak to Harry and Ron's relationship? Is Harry like, "Ron, you've gotta kill that Hermione pipedream," or is that topic irrelevant in the face of Quidditch gossip and less relationship-driven moments? Their (Harry and Ron) connection just seems so...necessary. It's beautiful.

I hope you're doing well! Thanks again for sharing such an immersive, gripping story with us.

Aw, this is so touching, thank you! I'll try to answer your questions as best I can without spoilers or breaching any rules on author-answer-ethics. Standard disclaimers: anything not in the text doesn't count, if I want you to believe something I have to give you a reason to believe it in the body of the fiction itself, and you're free to disagree with anything I say here. For the purposes of these types of questions, I'm basically just a fan who knows what the author had for breakfast this morning.

Harry knows that Hermione and Draco are... something. I think this comes through most in the arc of Book 4 where Ron separates from the group, and it becomes a tricycle of Draco, Hermione, and Harry. Harry is miserable, and it's not just because Ron leaves (although that's a large part of it); he's now in the position that Hermione occupies for most of the original series, where he understands very clearly that his other two friends, while both loving him very much, are First in each other's minds. He has a number of remarks that start to show his irritation with this, though he tries his best to be understanding — it is a similar dynamic to him and Ron, after all. (Fun story: I didn't realize until late in my drafting how much Hermione and Draco's dynamic echoes Harry and Ron in canon, from meeting on the train, the paying-for-candy moment, the Sorting, the class partnership, etc.)

All this to say that Harry looks at Hermione and Draco and sees a wall, in the same way that Draco looks at Harry and Ron and sees a wall. He doesn't understand it, but he knows that's deep water, and he knows he's usually better off not touching it. (Some of this comes through in Ron's conversation with Draco by the pumpkin patch; there's a blink-and-you-miss-it reference to "whatever the hell you and Hermione have got going on," along with a quick gloss on their weird pseudo-spiritual mind-meld connection, which was meant to give a glimpse into how the rest of Gryffindor sees them: eerily well-suited people with separately terrifying abilities who, when together, sail merrily off into their own universe of intelligence/plots-and-schemery and become a black hole of You Don't Want To Fucking Know. I sometimes amuse myself by thinking of Dean and Seamus giving the first years PSAs on Do Not Approach the Wild Swots In Action.) And he, like most of Gryffindor Tower, would have to be blind not to see how much they favor each other. They're always together. There's really nothing that they can do to hide it.

Which is probably why he pulls Ron back in the Owlery moment. He understands that what Hermione is dealing with is something that Draco, perhaps only Draco, can fix. She needs to hear a very specific kind of reassurance, and she needs to hear it from him. In the same way, when Hermione tried to calm Harry down before the plan to rescue Sirius in the third book, she failed miserably; they love each other intensely (they're siblings! the muggle-born twins!) but they're extremely different, and of all the Quartet dynamics, they're the ones who seem most at peace with that. Harry and Hermione's friendship works because they get what the other needs and they get that sometimes it's not them. (Harry more than Hermione, because she's still working on the concept of "sometimes people do not want my help" in general, but still.) There's a reason basically no one ever speculates about them being involved outside of a joke, because no one who knows them would think they could work romantically. They love each other, but they weird each other out, and they're content with that.

In contrast, Ron and Harry's friendship is more of the soul-bonded, life-partners, "he is more myself than I am" kind of friendship. Catherine and Heathcliff dig-up-the-corpse-to-lie-down-with-it type of shit. When Ron gets a death scare in the finale of Book 3, Harry goes fucking ballistic. Likewise with Harry's portkey fakeout in the end of Book 4 — Ron loses his shit. They are deeply, irrevocably attached to each other in an almost codependent way, which is the product of Harry's "first friend ever, like literally fucking ever, not nobody else, not one" situation meeting Ron's "first person who ever loved me as Ron and not so-and-so's brother" situation. So just as you put it, really: necessary and beautiful (and messy).